


The Eighth Circle

by Candy_A



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Crossovers: crow, Drama, Holiday: xmas, M/M, Romance, other pairing - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-01-12
Updated: 1999-01-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 54,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_A/pseuds/Candy_A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Christmas draws near, Jim and Blair visit nearby Port Columbia in an attempt to tie up the loose ends of an important case. During their visit, Blair's life is saved by a mysterious man bearing a shocking resemblance to one of his deceased friends...<br/><b>Archivist note</b>: This story has been split into five parts for easier loading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The following story is a crossover with the syndicated series "The Crow: Stairway to Heaven". The premise of the series, based on the film, "The Crow", centers on Eric Draven, a musician who, with his girlfriend and soulmate, Shelly Webster, is brutally murdered. One year after his death, Eric returns from the dead to "set things right", following his spirit guide, The Crow. What begins as an adversarial relationship with Detective Daryl Albrecht of the Port Columbia PD becomes a friendship. For more info on the series, try these websites: http://thecrow.fsn.net/crowtv or http://www.thecrowtv.com Another point of interest to TS Fans- -this series is also shot in Vancouver, and the distinctive Vancouver skyline, complete with the hotel that hosted SentinelCon 98, is visible from Eric Draven's fateful round window.
> 
> Jim and Blair need no introduction, right? :-)

 

Due to the size of this story, it's been split into 5 parts.

## The Eighth Circle

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: <http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281>

Author's disclaimer: Pet Fly owns the denizens of the Cascade PD, Rainier University and all canon things related to The Sentinel. Alliance, Crescent and Polygram Television own all things canon related to "The Crow: Stairway to Heaven". The story and all original characters belong to the author. No money is being made from this story, and it is only posted for the purpose of sharing with friends. No infringement intended.

* * *

**THE EIGHTH CIRCLE** \- part one  
by Candy Apple 

"I love you tomorrow,  
I love you today,  
I love you beyond what  
Mortal words can say,  
I love you in fury,  
I love you in control,  
I love you in circles  
Seven times around my soul." 

from "Seven Circles", Eric Draven's last song  
"The Crow: Stairway to Heaven"

SEPTEMBER 1997

Blair Sandburg checked the time written on the slip of paper. He was running a few minutes late since his tutoring session had dragged on a bit longer than expected. Fitting play rehearsals into his schedule had been completely outside of his original plan, but the thought of participating in the Rainier Theater Guild's version of "Hair" sounded like too much fun to pass up. His role was nothing major--he would only be an "extra hippie", but for these parts, the play's director wanted to gather men with naturally long hair who could carry a tune rather than cast a bunch of short-haired guys and outfit them in cheap wigs. 

He entered the Performing Arts Center a bit breathless, and headed for the auditorium where the first rehearsal was taking place. 

"You've gotta be heading for the rehearsals," a male voice came from behind him. Blair paused and turned to see a taller man, with long black hair, carrying a guitar case. The other man was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket, and looked as if he might have some Asian heritage, with large, striking dark eyes and a pleasant smile.

"What was your first clue?" Blair asked, laughing.

"When they first asked me about doing this, my ego kicked into overdrive. I thought, 'oh, man, they've heard of me here and they want me for the lead!' I play in a band in Port Columbia."

"Instead they said--'hey, you've got long hair and you're breathing--wanna be in a play?'"

"Just about."

"Guitarist or bass player?" Blair asked, relaxing a little and falling into step with his new companion. 

"Guitarist. I thought I'd bring it in case they need any help with the music." He held out his hand. "Eric Draven."

"Blair Sandburg." Blair shook the outstretched hand. "So, what's your major?"

"The jury's still out on that one. I'm taking a couple classes this semester, racking up some of the general requirements."

"I thought maybe you were a grad student--I'm in the Anthro department. I teach part-time as part of my fellowship."

"Nah. I didn't start college right out of high school. But I've been thinking now that I'd like to get my degree. Maybe Music--or Music Education. I'd like to teach music someday." There was a little silence. "So what do you do with an Anthropology degree?"

"I'm working on my doctorate. I want to teach at the university level, and I love research."

"Cool. How far along are you?"

"Almost an ABD." He caught the other's blank expression. "All but the dissertation."

"Ah," Eric said, nodding a little. "So this must be a major effort to squeeze play rehearsals into all that."

"It's a stretch, but I think it might be fun."

"I've been listening to the soundtrack from 'Hair' for the last week or so, trying to get into the Zen of all this."

"My mom _was_ a hippie, so I have a real life role model."

"That must have been an experience growing up."

"It had its moments," Blair responded, laughing a little. 

The two men arrived at the rehearsal, and took seats near the back of the auditorium, as the male lead was belting out one of his songs on the stage, accompanied only by a couple of electric guitars. Blair felt Eric leaning in to say something, so he met the other halfway.

"That guy's a dork. They're trying to sell him as a hippie?"

"He's got a good voice."

"Yeah, my high school math teacher did too, but I wouldn't want to see him playing George Berger," Eric responded, leaning back in his chair. Blair had to chortle at that. 

"They wanted Drama students in the leads."

"Maybe the wig'll help." Eric watched the mediocre performance a while longer, not offering any further comment, then, "You'd be good in that role."

"I'm too short," Blair opined.

"You're only as short as you feel."

"I think that's supposed to be relevant to age--you're only as _old_ as you feel," he whispered back.

"Whatever," Eric responded, pulling out his wallet and counting through his money. "Gotta stop and get my girlfriend a birthday present on the way home."

"You guys been together long?"

"About six months." Eric held up his wallet so Blair could see the photo of a beautiful woman with long, curly brown hair and a stunning smile.

"Wow. She's beautiful."

"Thanks. I think so."

"What's her name?"

"Shelly." Eric tucked the wallet back in his pocket. 

"Suits her." Blair nodded, smiling. 

The performance on stage finished, and the director started rounding up his new recruits, and before long was trying to assess which ones had some musical or dance talent and which ones merely had lots of hair and would look good standing around in the background. By the end of the rehearsal, Blair and Eric both found themselves cast in a couple of group dance numbers and as part of the chorus of back-up singers.

They walked out to the parking lot together, talking over the rehearsal and grumbling about the grey, cold, wet weather that was ushering in the Fall. 

"Well, I gotta get back. We've got a gig tonight at the Blackout." Eric unlocked the door to a white Camaro that had been parked at the far corner of the parking lot. "Shelly's. If I get a ding in the door, she'll kill me." He loaded the guitar in the back seat and then slid into the driver's seat. "Where are you parked, anyway?"

"Out in front of Hargrove Hall. I guess we just got talking and I sort of forgot I was going the wrong way."

"Get in. I'll drop you off at your car."

"Thanks." Blair hurried around to the passenger side and climbed in. "Nice car. Smells new inside. Did she just get it?"

"Yeah, about two months ago. It's a real strain, but she's having a lot of fun with it." He started up the engine and headed toward Hargrove Hall.

"I think you could sing the lead role better than Fitzgerald," Blair referred to the current student cast in that role.

"Yeah, well, I don't think the lead character was part Asian. Besides, I don't really have time to do more than this. But it might be sort of fun. Shelly'll get a kick out of it. She's a photographer, so she'll probably get some good shots of the performances."

"Ever been to Club Doom? It's near the campus."

"A couple of times. The band that played there last month--Shrapnel? I was in a band with their drummer in high school, so I got in with no cover charge while they were there."

"I don't get over there as much as I used to. So what's the Blackout like? I've never been over there."

"It's a great club. Hey--what're you doing tonight?"

"Grading papers," Blair responded, rolling his eyes. 

"You don't really want to waste a perfectly good evening doing _that_ , do you?" Eric asked, a devilish little smile curling the corners of his mouth.

"Actually, I have to."

"That's why you're an ABC or whatever and I'm still technically a freshman," Eric replied, laughing. He pulled up slowly alongside the parked cars in front of Hargrove Hall.

"Mine's the Corvair."

"Great car. A real classic."

"Thanks." Blair paused a minute. "What time are you playing?"

"First show's at nine. That gives you four hours to grade papers and still make the hour drive over to Port Columbia," Eric pointed out, raising his eyebrows and smiling a little. "I'll get you in free."

"Can't turn down that offer. See you there." Blair got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride. Tell Shelly I loved her car." Blair said through the open door.

"She'll be there tonight. You can tell her yourself."

"Great. Hey, would it be okay if I brought my roommate?"

"Sure. I'll tell the guy at the door to let you and a guest in."

"Thanks. See you tonight." Blair closed the car door and hurried to his own car, tossing his back pack in the backseat and starting up the engine just as Eric sped away toward the main entrance to the campus.

* * *

Jim pulled the truck into a parking spot not far from the alley where the entrance to the Blackout club was located. He wasn't entirely sure that an evening at a noisy, crowded club that catered to people ten years younger was exactly what his frazzled nerves needed after a hellish day on the job, but Blair had been so enthused about taking Eric Draven up on his offer to see Hangman's Joke, Eric's band, perform, that he hadn't had the heart to say no. 

As soon as Blair gave his name to the muscular man in the black Blackout t-shirt and jeans who was screening the guests at the door, Jim and Blair were ushered in without hesitation. Jim was dialing everything down at once except for his sight, which he dialed up a bit to see even more clearly in the dimly lit club. It was 8:45, so they didn't have long to wait for the first show. 

"Did he say what kind of music he played?" Jim asked over the noise of the crowd. 

"Nope. But I'm assuming rock and roll." Blair craned his neck. "Hey, that looks like Shelly."

"Draven's girlfriend?"

"Yeah. Come on, let's go introduce ourselves." Blair led the way, the suggestion not really being a suggestion, but an announcement of his plan of action. Jim followed. "Shelly?" Blair asked the attractive young woman, who was dressed in a simple red dress with narrow straps over her shoulders.

"Do I know you?"

"My name is Blair Sandburg. I just met Eric this afternoon and he invited us to come see the band."

"Oh, right. Nice to meet you, Blair." She shook hands with him, and looked Jim's way. 

"This is my friend, Jim Ellison. Jim, this is Shelly...?"

"Webster. Glad you could make it." She shook hands with Jim also. "Eric and the band ought to be getting started pretty soon. He said you had quite a time at the rehearsal."

"It's been a while since I had to sing 'Aquarius'--that's an experience I definitely didn't want to deal with alone."

"I can't wait to see Eric as a dancing hippie. I'll have to remember to get lots of film on hand for that," she quipped, laughing.

"Yeah, we're in a couple of the big production numbers. Ought to be interesting. I think it'll be fun."

"I have to get up front to be near the stage to get a few shots of the band. It was great meeting you both. I hope you enjoy the show."

"I'm sure we will," Jim spoke up. 

"Nice meeting you too," Blair added as she smiled and headed up for the stage area.

"Pretty lady," Jim commented.

"Really," Blair agreed. 

After finding a table and ordering a couple of beers, Blair noticed Eric weaving his way through the crowd.

"Glad you could make it," he said as he approached the table. "Jim, right?" He extended his hand in Jim's direction before Blair had time to introduce them.

"Right. So you're the other hippie," he quipped. Draven laughed.

"I've been called worse. So, Jim, you like this kind of music?" He gestured vaguely at the club. The throb of something Jim considered tuneless and repetitive banged at the back of his brain relentlessly.

"This is more Sandburg's style than mine," he admitted. 

"What do you like?"

"He's a Santana man," Blair spoke up. Jim shot him a look, obviously having hoped to sound a bit less archaic.

"They were a great band. Well, I better head backstage. We're about due to go on. Stick around after the set--maybe we can all grab a beer together?"

"Sounds great," Blair responded.

"Later, then." Eric turned and hurried back through the crowd, disappearing into the shadows behind the stage.

"Your hearing bothering you too much?" Blair asked.

"I think this beat is permanently imprinted on my brain, but other than that, no." Jim gave in and smiled at Blair's worried expression. "I can dial things down with the set starts, Chief. Don't worry about it."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure. You've never heard his band before?"

"No. I just know he's got a good voice, and he said the band's got a great local following. They're still trying for a record deal though."

"Aren't they all," Jim responded.

"I guess only a few actually make it. Tough business."

Within moments, Hangman's Joke took the stage. While their music was a combination of alternative and hard rock, and not really Jim's style, he had to admit to himself that they were all competent musicians and put on a good show. Midway through the set, the lead singer relinquished his spot to Draven, going backstage. 

"This next one is an older song--a cover tune. We don't usually do covers, but I think we can make an exception." Draven turned to the band, and on his signal, the music began. Jim laughed as the first strains of Santana's hit, "Black Magic Woman", wafted through the club. The crowd didn't seem to mind, and Jim enjoyed it. Draven was a good singer, and he did justice to the vocals. Jim personally considered that no one but Carlos Santana could do justice to the guitar work, but Draven did well nonetheless.

The band played three more songs after that one before winding up their first set. About ten minutes after the band had left the stage, Eric and Shelly headed over for Jim's and Blair's table, Eric's arm draped loosely around his girlfriend's shoulders as he guided her through the crowd. 

"Thanks for the song--that was great," Jim said as soon as they sat down at the table for four.

"No problem. I used to use that one to practice all the time. That and 'Smoke on the Water'." Eric smiled gratefully at the beer that was set in front of him, taking a couple of long gulps. "You guys need refills? Drinks are on us."

"Thanks, man, but we've got to drive back to Cascade. We don't want one of Jim's friends pulling us over." Blair paused. "That was a great set."

"Thanks." He turned to Jim. "You're a cop?" Draven's eyes got impossibly larger. 

"I'm not going on a pot bust in here tonight, so don't worry about it," Jim responded, snorting a little laugh.

"The Blackout is usually pretty clean that way," Shelly spoke up. "There are a few jerks who show up every now and then, but not too many."

"Your photography--is it a hobby or your job?" Blair asked her.

"Both," she said, laughing. "I love doing it, but I've started to have some luck selling some of my work. Mostly to local publications. What I'd really like is to get an exhibit at the Madison Gallery. They feature some of the best cutting edge photographers--they had a show there last week that was very heavy with urban themes. I take a lot of shots of the city, the people..." She smiled a little self-consciously, stealing a glance at Eric, who was watching her adoringly, hanging on each word as if he'd never heard her dreams before. "Listen to me. Turn a simple answer into an essay."

"You two should get along great, then," Jim said, motioning between Shelly and Blair.

"We're not too talkative. We're _eloquent_ ," Blair defended, and then held up his hand which Shelly slapped palm to palm in a high five. 

"How did you two end up roommates?" Draven asked, taking another drink of his beer.

"I'm doing research on behavior in closed societies, and police departments qualify, so Jim lets me ride along with him. I had my own place, but it got blown up last year."

"Blown up?" Eric repeated, raising his eyebrows.

"There was a drug lab operating in the same warehouse where I was living--my part of it was partially converted into living space. They got into a gang war, and the next thing I knew--kaboom!--no apartment."

"You're lucky you weren't hurt. Were you able to salvage anything?" Shelly asked.

"Yeah, quite a lot of my stuff, fortunately. So I stayed with Jim--"

"And never left," Jim teased, shooting a little smile at Blair.

The four of them visited a while longer until Eric and Shelly excused themselves so Eric could get ready for the 11:00 set. 

"We have to get going. Early call in the morning," Blair said as all four of them stood up.

"I'm really glad you could make it tonight. Good meeting you, Jim."

"Same here. It was a great show."

"Thanks. I'll probably see you in a few days at the theater, right?" He turned to Blair.

"Yeah, I'll be there," Blair responded, rolling his eyes. 

"Oh, it'll be fun, you guys," Shelly added. "I think you'll both make very sexy hippies."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Blair smiled in response to the remark. 

After making their farewells, Jim and Blair headed back out to the truck and started their short drive to Cascade.

* * *

OCTOBER 28, 1997

"What's eating you today, anyway?" Draven asked, biting into the taco he'd selected from the buffet tables at the international food festival taking place in Rainier's Student Union.

"Nothing," Blair responded, poking listlessly at the almond chicken he'd selected from the Chinese food table. The two men were seated on opposite ends of a big blue sofa which was part of a grouping of furniture inhabited by a number of gorging students. The play rehearsal had just ended, and neither could resist the smells wafting out of the Student Union into the cool October air. 

"You haven't said two words since rehearsal, and normally you never shut up."

"Gee, thanks." Blair took another bite.

"You know what I mean." Draven smiled a little. "Is it something I said?" he asked seriously.

"No, not at all." Blair finally set the small carton of food on the nearby table. "Remember I told you about that trip I took with Jim to Peru right before we met?"

"Yeah. Don't tell me--you and the lizard decided to renew your affair."

"Very funny," Blair shot back, having to smile a bit at Eric's humor, and the devilish glint in the dark eyes. "While we were there, some things happened. Strange things." Blair hesitated.

"And...? Strange how? Are you going to eat that?" Eric nodded toward the Chinese food container on the table.

"Here." Blair handed it over, not interested in eating. 

"Sorry, but I have a rehearsal with the band after this, and Shelly's taking some photos at fund raising event--meal money photography, she calls it. We probably won't eat until late."

"I've got a thing for Jim," Blair shot out, waiting for Eric's reaction. The other man's jaw stopped mid-chew, and he continued to stare into the food container for a moment before looking up to meet Blair's eyes. "Yeah, that was my reaction too. If he knew, he'd kill me. And he was in Covert Ops. He probably knows how."

"Cops know the best spots to hide bodies."

"You're a big help."

"Are you gay? I mean, I don't have a problem with it if you are. I just wondered."

"No."

"Bi?"

"I guess I am, if I'm checking Jim out."

"But not before this?"

"No."

"Huh." Eric went back to his food.

"Thanks for the advice, man. I'm glad we talked."

"What do you want me to say? I don't know Jim all that well. But I will tell you this. I think he's interested."

"What makes you say that? You've only seen him a few times," Blair recalled, referring to the night at the Blackout plus a couple of times Eric had joined Jim and Blair for something to eat before heading back to Port Columbia after an afternoon at Rainier.

"Well," Eric began through a mouthful, "when I go out with my buddies, I do things I like to do--stuff we all like doing. When I go out with Shelly, I do _whatever_ she wants to do. That's what Jim was doing when he came to the Blackout with you. Don't kid yourself, he hated that place," Draven concluded, laughing. "A cop spending the evening at the Blackout? You find as many cops there as you do at Club Doom."

"Jim and I are really different people. So we have to meet in the middle."

"Think about it, Blair. You pick your friends usually because you have common ground. You pick your lovers for what you feel for them."

"The big reason I didn't go with Stoddard on that expedition was...I realized how I felt about Jim and I couldn't leave."

"Here I thought it was because you couldn't give up the glamour of our opening night." Draven finished off the food, then smiled. "I sort of had that one figured out."

"It's that obvious?"

"It's always been obvious he was your best friend. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to leave your friends behind. I was guessing about the rest of it. Does he know?"

"I told him I didn't go because our partnership was more than my research. That it was about friendship. He seemed really pleased about that."

"But he didn't say anything."

"Jim doesn't say much, but he looked really pleased."

"Well, that was mighty damn big of him," Eric said, a bit sarcastically. "You told me that expedition would be...how did you say it? 'The defining moment of my career to date?' "

"You don't know Jim. He's...well, to say he's repressed is, like, the understatement of the year. His background is military, then the police--and I get the feeling his luck with relationships isn't that great."

"You know him better than I do. And you obviously like what you see."

"Unfortunately, yeah," Blair responded, smiling and nodding.

"So tell him."

"We're back to where we started with this--him knowing how to kill me and where to hide the body."

"He isn't going to kill you. The worst thing he'll do is get pissed off. Maybe knock your lights out. Or things'll go well. Either way, you'll be alive to tell about it in the morning."

"If he threw me out... I value our friendship, a lot."

"You know, the Byrds said it best. There's a time to every purpose under heaven. You'll know when the time to talk to him about this is right. But do it eventually, huh? Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"I think the Bible came up with that quote first."

"Yeah, but when the Byrds said it, you could tap your toe to it."

* * *

NOVEMBER 1, 1997

Blair deposited his backpack by the door, and headed into the kitchen to fix his breakfast shake. He found himself humming the refrain to "Hair", looking forward to the rehearsal scheduled for that afternoon. It would be the first dress rehearsal with the complete cast present, scheduled on a Saturday so everyone could be present, even those who had employment commitments off campus. Eric was going to bring Shelly to the rehearsal with him, and Jim was going to join the three of them for dinner afterwards. 

If he was doing well with his part in the chorus, he gave Eric a great deal of credit for that. Draven was a good musician, and a strong singer. Blair had a good voice, but not much experience. Eric had given him a few pointers, and they'd spent a couple of evenings jamming on their guitars together--one of which had brought the police to the door. Jim hadn't been thrilled to deal with that little bit of teasing from his colleagues, but he had tolerated it with quite a bit of good humor overall. Eric's advice about Jim adapting to what Blair liked to do rang very true as Blair thought about that. How many other people could jam on electric guitars with a buddy in Jim's apartment while he wasn't home, bring the cops to the door, and not end up with the guitar inserted somewhere painful when Jim found out?

"Blair." Jim's voice was unusually soft as he stood near the front door where he'd just come in with the newspaper.

"Yeah?" Blair turned around, shake in hand, and immediately noticed the grim look on his partner's face. "What's wrong?"

"I've got really bad news, buddy." He took a deep breath and then crossed the room and laid the morning paper on the table. Blair moved over to it, dreading to see what Jim was talking about. 

The bottom half of the "Cascade Herald" boasted a grim headline:

Police Investigate Bizarre Murder of Area Musician

"Oh, God." Blair dropped into the chair and started reading the article quietly. 

Eric Draven and Shelly Webster had been the victims of a violent, home invasion-style assault in their loft apartment, ending in Draven being thrown from the sixteenth floor window to his death. Shelly was listed in critical condition at the Port Columbia Medical Center, due to injuries sustained in the assault. The article quoted a Detective Daryl Albrecht of the Port Columbia Police Department as saying that the police were following up several leads, but no arrests had been made.

"I'm really sorry, Chief." Jim rested a hand on Blair's shoulder. 

"I was just...I just saw him two days ago."

"Look, I know Albrecht. I worked on a case with him a couple years back. I'll give him a call and see what I can find out."

"Shelly...I wonder if anyone's there with her?"

"Her family's probably been notified."

"They're out of state, Jim. What if she's alone? I'm going there." 

"Okay. I'll call Simon." Jim smiled slightly at Blair's surprised expression. "I thought of them as my friends too, Chief." Jim gave the back of Blair's head a fleeting caress as he moved to the telephone and called Simon to tell him he wouldn't be spending the morning catching up on his paperwork.

Blair got up and walked into his room, feeling numb with shock, and afraid of the feeling that would come when the shock was gone. He'd made a lot of friends in his life, and he hadn't known Eric or Shelly all that long, but there was something about Draven that made him a special friend. Something almost on a spiritual level from the first time they talked. Eric wasn't especially interested in Blair's various meditation techniques or in seeking a lot of deep inner truths, and yet, there had been something very deep about him. It was as if he could look at you with those startling dark eyes and see right down into your soul.

"I called Simon." Jim was standing inside the open French doors. Blair just nodded. He was both surprised and grateful when he felt Jim move up behind him and place a warm hand on each shoulder. "You holding up okay, Chief?"

"It was such a senseless waste, man. God, what a horrible way to die!" A couple of tears leaked out as he fought with the lump in his throat. 

"I know. Crimes like these...they're senseless. Horrible wastes of good people."

"I should call the U and let someone know that we aren't going to be at the rehearsal this morning." Blair sniffed and brushed a hand over his eyes, moving away from Jim and picking up his own phone.

* * *

Jim didn't have to look far to find Daryl Albrecht. As soon as they arrived at the hospital, he spotted the other detective pacing around in the waiting room, talking animatedly on a cell phone. 

"Albrecht," Jim greeted as soon as the call ended. The tall, handsome black man with the close-cropped hair, mustache and goatee turned on his heel at the sound of the voice.

"Ellison?" He extended a hand, smiling a little. "What brings you up here?"

"The Draven/Webster case. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. Blair, Daryl Albrecht." 

"Hi," Blair responded softly, shaking the man's extended hand.

"Eric and Shelly were friends of ours."

"Oh, man, I'm sorry. When was the last time you saw them?"

"Eric and I were at a rehearsal together two days ago." Noticing Albrecht's blank expression, Blair added, "Eric was taking a couple classes at Rainier University--I'm a teaching fellow there. We're both going to be...we _were_ going to be in the University's production of 'Hair' in a couple of weeks."

"Did he give you any indication that there was something wrong? That he was maybe being harassed or threatened by anyone?"

"Not at all. Everything seemed fine. He was in a great mood. He was all enthused about this song he'd just written for Shelly, told me he was going to play it for her as soon as he got it just right. He didn't seem upset about anything. Look, I'd like to see Shelly. Is her family here?"

"Not yet. Her father is deceased, and her mother is on vacation in Florida at the moment, so we're still trying to get a hold of her. Come on, I'll get you in. They're restricting it to family and me."

While Blair went into the hospital room, visible through the window into the hall of the ICU, Jim asked Albrecht more details about the murders.

"Any leads?"

"Not much yet. We're still gathering evidence, checking up on the usual cast of degenerates who might do something like this. We figure there had to be at least three to four guys. Draven was a powerful guy--he was in great shape, and according to his band, he knew quite a few martial arts moves."

"Was he dead when he went through the window?"

"Honest to God, I wish I could say I thought he was. That's a hell of a way to go." Albrecht shook his head. "I'm not positive. We're waiting for final results from the M.E., but everything points to the injuries from the fall killing him. I hope the poor bastard was unconscious before it happened. My theory is that they probably had to rough him up pretty good to be able to subdue him and...have time to do what they did to her." He nodded toward the hospital room.

"How is she, really?" Jim watched Blair sit by the bed, holding Shelly's hand and talking to her. The beautiful young woman was as white as the bedsheets, her hair fanned out on the pillow as the only contrast. Her hair, and a few dark bruises on her otherwise flawless face.

"It doesn't look good. She suffered massive internal injuries. The doctor didn't sound hopeful. The next 48 hours are critical."

"Shit." Jim rubbed at his chin, watching Blair. "If there's anything I can do to help... I'm out of my jurisdiction, I know, but if we've got anything in our lab you could use, or you need an extra hand following up on leads--give me a call?"

"I'll do that. Thanks." The two men were quiet a moment. "What did you think of Draven?"

"He was a good guy. Smart, friendly...good musician. Sandburg's a good judge of character. They hit it off right away."

"He was clean--no drugs. At least nothing we've found so far. He doesn't have a record except for a couple of traffic violations and a couple of juvenile disturbing the peace complaints. I can't find anything on her either," Albrecht stated, sighing a little. "There's no obvious reason anyone would want these two kids dead. It sure as hell wasn't for their vast fortune. Although it looks like they took off with Draven's guitar and the stereo. Most of Shelly's photography equipment is still there, though I can't find a decent camera in her things, so I'm figuring they probably grabbed that too. She keeps flexing her fingers and saying 'ring'. I think they must have taken one from her, maybe something Draven gave her. He was wearing a silver wedding band-style ring."

"That must have been new," Blair said, joining them in the hall. "He didn't have that a couple days ago."

"Was she awake?" Jim asked.

"No. And after all she's been through, I didn't want to try to bring her around. She needs the sleep. How bad is it?" Blair asked Albrecht, but Jim answered instead, laying a hand on Blair's shoulder. 

"It doesn't look good, Chief. Her injuries were pretty extensive."

"Damn." Blair swallowed, but kept his composure. 

"You want to have a look around the crime scene?" Albrecht asked Jim. 

"Yes, I would. Look, Chief, why don't you stick around here in case she wakes up? This probably isn't something you need to see."

"I really don't want her to come to alone." Blair glanced back through the window. "Okay."

* * *

Jim stood in front of the shattered round window, then ventured closer to follow the path down with his eyes.

"My God." Images of Draven at the Blackout that night, singing the Santana song just to make Jim feel at home, buying them a round of drinks, and holding hands with his girlfriend swirled around in Jim's mind. His senses weren't giving him much to go on. "Draven didn't smoke. Neither did Shelly." Jim moved back into the apartment. "I'm smelling cigarette smoke."

"I don't smell anything." Albrecht looked puzzled.

"Trust me. One of your perps is a smoker." Jim paused by the rumpled, ruined bed where Shelly had been attacked. "I wonder how much he had to watch?"

"Plenty, given the timing. As soon as he fell, somebody called the cops, and the response time was pretty good on this one, since there were units in the area anyway."

"Nobody else heard anything on this whole floor?"

"They were the only unit rented up here. The building is being restored, and the two floors between this and the rest of the tenants are still being finished." Albrecht was quiet as Jim squatted to look at a photo in a shattered frame. Eric and Shelly, laughing together.

"You need to see anything else?" Albrecht asked.

"No. I think I've seen enough."

* * *

NOVEMBER 2, 1997

Albrecht walked slowly out of the room, the commotion of hospital personnel and the high-pitched keening of the flatline on the heart monitor following him into the hallway. He closed his eyes a moment, wondering why this case had affected him so much more than all the others he'd worked. Why Shelly Webster's expected death was hitting him so hard, and why Eric Draven's brutal and unthinkable death hit him that much at all. Homicide cops are supposed to be able to put it all in some sort of objective perspective...

"Shelly?" Blair asked as he and Jim reappeared with the coffee they'd gone downstairs to get.

"She's gone. They're working on her now, but... It's over."

"I thought she was getting better." Blair dropped into a chair. "She was conscious for quite a while earlier."

"I know. I was hoping she'd pull through, and I thought that was a good sign." Daryl shrugged and came to sit in a chair opposite where Blair sat. The younger man had been convinced, finally, to go home with Jim the night before, get some sleep, and come back first thing that morning. His real concern for Shelly was obvious, but the fact he was trying to be there for her because Eric couldn't was his main motivator. Sandburg hadn't known Draven long, but the two men had become good friends in that short time.

"Now it's a double homicide," Daryl said tiredly, rubbing a hand over his face. "Damn it."

"Her mother never got here," Jim commented, taking the chair next to Blair's. Sandburg was staring straight ahead, working to keep his emotions in check.

"We just reached her this morning. She's on a flight back as we speak. Timing was just off." Daryl took in a deep breath and then released it. "I have to get into headquarters, get the paperwork going."

"I think we'll head for home as well." Jim stood up, tugging a little on Sandburg's sleeve until he followed suit.

"What about Shelly's mom? Will anyone be here when she gets here?"

"I will be," Albrecht assured, standing up as well. "She won't be here until this afternoon. I'll pick her up at the airport and...give her the news."

"Come on, Chief. Let's go. Albrecht--keep me posted, huh?"

"Will do," he responded, shaking hands with Jim, and then with Blair. "I wish things had turned out differently," he said, turning to watch the medical personnel walking somewhat defeatedly out of the young woman's room.

* * *

"You want something to eat?" Jim asked, going into the kitchen after they arrived home, ready to fix his silent roommate something if it would help. Anything that would lift the veil of pain from Sandburg's big blue eyes. Anything that would break the silence that had lasted all the way home.

"Not now." Blair made a beeline for his room and closed the doors behind him. Jim leaned on the counter with both hands, staring into space and listening to the sounds of Blair sobbing his grief out in the questionable privacy of his room. Unable to stand by and listen any longer, Jim moved toward the doors and opened them quietly, then walked in and sat behind the shaking body that was curled up on the bed, facing away from the door.

"Blair, I'm so sorry."

"It's so fucking unfair, man. They were good people. They didn't deserve this!" Blair shouted through his tears.

"Nobody deserves something like this, pal. Nobody but the animals who committed this crime." Jim laid a hand on Blair's shoulder and rubbed it gently. "I'm here, Chief," he said quietly, waiting for Sandburg to turn to him. In a moment, he did, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Jim, holding on for dear life and crying out his grief on the larger man's shoulder. "Shhh. It's okay, Blair. Let it out." Jim patted his friend's back and then moved a hand up to stroke his hair. 

"I was just...with him...a couple days ago. I didn't know...it would be the last time..."

"It's never a good time to lose a friend. There's always stuff left unsaid."

"Jim?" Blair sniffled a couple of times and pulled back. "You're right."

"About what, Chief?" Jim asked softly, keeping a hand on Blair's shoulder, thumb rubbing slowly against the taught muscles.

"We don't say the things we should say until it's too late." He swallowed a couple of times. "I...I love you." Jim's easy smile and calm reaction let Blair know that the other man didn't understand what kind of love they were talking about. And suddenly, the thought of putting that in so many words terrified Blair.

"I love you too, Chief."

"I'm glad we said it," Blair responded in a choked voice, looking into the clear blue eyes of the man he loved. //And I wish I had the strength to say what I mean...//

"Me too, buddy."

* * *

MAY, 1998

"How're you feeling, Chief?" Jim watched as Blair's bleary eyes took in his surroundings in the hospital. It was his first sign of consciousness since being revived by the side of the fountain three days earlier. 

"Jim?"

"That's me, partner."

"Shelly said...you needed me."

"What?" Jim responded, a little chilled at Blair's reference to the young woman who had died seven months earlier in Port Columbia.

"She...wouldn't let me cross over. There was a bridge...and...she said I had to go back."

"You saw Shelly, Blair?" Jim took a hold of Blair's hand.

"Yeah." He smiled slightly. "She looked really pretty."

"Do you know where you are now, Chief?"

"Hospital," he responded, squeezing Jim's hand. 

"Do you remember what happened?"

"Alex... I...I remember her coming to the office. The rest is...foggy."

"It's okay, Chief. Just rest. Don't try to talk too much now."

"Jim?"

"What?"

"Was she right?"

"Who?" Jim frowned, wondering if Blair meant Alex.

"Shelly...she said you needed me."

"I do, partner. I do, so much," Jim responded in a hushed voice, stroking Blair's hair. 

"I told her...I shouldn't go back...because of how I felt." Blair was obviously getting tired, so Jim interrupted him.

"Sleep now. I'm going to stay right here."

"Love you," Blair murmured as he drifted back off to sleep again. Jim stared at his friend, the one he had hurt so badly in the past few days. The one who had taken all the light and laughter and love with him when he'd been thrown out of the loft so suddenly.

"I love you too, Chief," he whispered, leaning forward and kissing Blair's forehead. "Next time you're awake, I'll tell you for real."

* * *

DECEMBER 1998

Eric Draven set his guitar aside and moved to stand by the round window, feeling the cool, damp December air swirling around him. The whole world was gearing up for Christmas now, the streets below alive with about half again as much traffic as usual. When he'd been alive, he had been in the middle of all that panic, all that hustle, and somehow, he'd cared about the season and the parties and the hoopla... Now it was nothing but a painful reminder of his current, strange state of...afterlife? Undeath? //Undeath...sort of like the Un-Cola,// Eric thought, his own dark humor bringing an ironic smirk to his face.

A knock on the door startled him. 

"Eric? It's me," Sarah's voice carried from the other side of the door. He ambled over to the locked door and opened it. He normally counted on Sarah to be his ray of sunshine, but she looked as blah as he felt as she made her way to the step in front of the window and sat down. The thirteen-year-old girl looked far too somber for her age at the moment as she tossed her backpack of schoolbooks on the floor and leaned her elbows on her knees, letting out a mammoth sigh.

"You want to tell me what's bothering you?" he asked, moving over to sit next to her. He'd lost count of how many hours they'd spent in this very position, sitting side by side in front of the place where he died, contemplating the meaning of life and death, among other subjects. She tucked a lock of her sandy blonde hair behind her ear before answering. Her nails bore a pink nail polish, and her hair no longer hid under the stocking cap she used to like so well. Sarah, the tough little tomboy, seemed to be discovering her feminine side, even if it was sneaking up on her.

"I don't know why I ever let you talk me into signing up for that lame-o choir at school," she groaned.

"Maybe because you like to sing?"

"I can sing in the shower."

"Not with an audience." Eric smiled at her grim expression. "I thought you liked the choir. You even told me about...oh, what's his name--the one that looks like Brad Pitt, only shorter."

"Andy," she supplied, still staring straight ahead, resting her chin on the heel of her hand.

"Okay. Andy. Did he do something that ticked you off?"

"No. Andy's fine. In fact, he's great. He even picked out the desk next to mine in math class, and we walked down to the auditorium for choir practice together. I think he likes me," she said, smiling just a little before she recalled how miserable she was supposed to be.

"I give up then. What is it, Sarah?"

"This." She handed him a bright red piece of paper, emblazoned with black letters declaring "Holiday Concert". 

"This is a bad thing? Sounds like fun. You hate Santa Claus or something?"

"Yeah, like he's ever done me any favors," she responded grimly.

"Come on, Sarah. Tell me what's got you so down, huh?" Eric asked, losing the humor from his voice. Whatever was making Sarah this unhappy, he wanted to fix. Soon.

"We have to get all dressed up for this thing. I have to wear a stupid dress."

"That's it?" he asked, laughing a little. 

"I don't have one, okay?" she shot back angrily. "At least, not a nice one," she added in a softer tone. "Darla's short on money this month, with Christmas and bills and everything."

"You know, that consignment store over on Hill Street--"

"Eric!!" she protested loudly. It was on the tip of his tongue to remind her that half the stuff there was more expensive quality stuff than either one of them could ever afford new, and some of it hardly used at all, for prices they could handle. Then he considered he was talking to a thirteen-year-old, and a female one at that. The reply died in his throat.

"Sorry, bad idea."

"It gets worse."

"You have to wear high heels too?"

"No!" she responded, unable to keep from laughing a bit. "They're having a mixer after the concert. _Mixer._ Like, dorky kind of dancing."

"Dorky dancing?"

"You know, like _waltzing_ or something."

"Ah," Eric replied, nodding knowingly.

"I can't dance."

"Most of the kids you're in class with probably can't. I wouldn't lose much sleep over it. Besides, they'll play music you guys like."

"Guess again. Our music teacher is a total dork. She'll probably play disco."

"Ouch." Eric winced, then smiled. "You might get to dance with Andy."

"Yeah, right. I'll probably step on his feet and I'll be dressed like a moron. I'm not going. That's it."

Eric didn't respond to that, but just stared straight ahead, his position parallel to his young friend's. Since the Blackout had closed down following the murder of the club owner, a good friend of his, he'd been out of work. His $750 rent payment was due on December 24th, and he had exactly $800 in the back of the drawer where he kept his money stashed. Since he'd crossed over from the other side, nothing had been easy, but when India had given him the job at the club, in gratitude for his role in saving her from her abusive husband, things had started to look up. He'd been able to pay the rent on the loft where he died, which he also considered to be the site of the portal to the other side. He had seen more than one vision of Shelly here, felt her presence so acutely that it was almost physical at times... So despite the painful memories that hovered over him every minute he was there, he couldn't leave. 

Sarah had been the first person he revealed his identity to upon his return. And from the start, she had believed in him without question, and had been his friend and ally when no one else was on his side. She was almost like a legacy from Shelly, since it was her photography work that brought Shelly into contact with Sarah, who was spending a good deal of her time on the streets since her mother was an alcoholic. After a visit from Eric, Darla Mohr had stopped drinking. He smiled at that thought. Usually seeing him after he'd transformed was something that could get people started drinking. His deceptively normal appearance would give way to the startling persona he'd come to think of as The Crow, which left his eyes rimmed and accented in black, his face ungodly white, and his mouth painted in the mask of an evil black smile. Even the pads of his nails went partially black, reflecting the evidence of the death he was currently cheating by taking part in life.

The abilities that came with this transformation were amazing. He'd always been a strong fighter, and he'd known a few martial arts moves, but now, he was almost unstoppable. 

Sarah had even helped him understand what he was, why he was exiled back among the living instead of being allowed to join Shelly in the Land of the Dead, where he'd met her only briefly after their untimely and violent deaths. She had found volumes of information on the role of the Crow as a spirit guide, and the obligation of the spirit it carries back from the dead to use his gifts to set things right in the world. To balance the cosmic scales. So even after Draven had hunted down the contract killers who'd ended his and Shelly's lives, and even after he'd defeated the man who ordered the killings, an evil man who possessed the same powers Eric now had himself, he was not allowed to rest. He had more to do.

And just a few weeks earlier, he'd been offered a golden chance to be with Shelly. An emissary from the other side had appeared to him, and informed him that the score was settled, and it was time to move on. Eric had been ecstatic, and just when he was prepared to make his journey to be with his love, Top Dollar, a.k.a, Jason Danko, had escaped from the mental hospital where he was being held. The man who engineered the murders had gone free, and preyed on Draven's friends one by one. 

He'd held Sarah and her mother prisoner, then he'd attacked and beaten Albrecht badly enough to put him in the hospital, and then taken India hostage in her own club. In the zero hour, when it was time to move to the other side, Eric couldn't leave. In the process of working to attain the right to his own death, he'd found a new life and friends that meant something special. It had left him torn between the two worlds, and he had to risk one to save the other. He had been unable to save India from Top Dollar, though he'd finally killed the murderer in a battle to the death. But Danko was convinced he would return, possessing the same powers Eric now had. So in essence, Eric had sacrificed his reunion with Shelly to defeat a murderer, and in the end, had granted the bastard what he wanted all along. To be killed by Draven and granted eternal life. 

Whether or not he had been granted eternal life remained to be seen, but when all was said and done, India was still dead, Danko actually got what he wanted, and all contacts with Shelly had ceased. He felt truly alone on his side of the barrier, and that had made his friends, like Sarah and Albrecht, that much more vital to him. 

He went to the drawer, and out of the range of Sarah's vision, stuffed the cash into his pocket. Then he turned back to face her. 

"When do you have to get home?"

"Not 'til later. Darla's got an AA meeting after work."

"Come on." Eric stood up and headed for the door, pulling on the long black jacket that topped off his black t-shirt and black jeans.

"Where?"

"Just come with me. You can leave your stuff here."

By the time they were walking along the sidewalk, participating in the bustle of the Christmas shoppers in the downtown business district, Sarah couldn't stand it anymore.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." He smirked a little at her exasperated sigh, but he also knew she'd continue walking along with him if he crossed the Sahara and back. 

Christmas music wafted into the street from a few stores with outdoor speakers, and Salvation Army Santa Clauses rang their bells with an almost violent determination to be heard over the noises of the city. 

Their destination was Harmon's, the most exclusive department store in Port Columbia. Eric had only ventured once to buy a dress for Shelly, since he'd been unsure of the size and unsure of what she'd like, but when she opened the package and saw the Harmon's box, her eyes had almost bulged out of her head. When he'd gotten his credit card bill, his eyes bulged as well, but it had been worth it. He had teased her that she could always throw out the dress and wear the box.

"We're going in there?" Sarah asked, visibly stunned.

"Yeah. You have a problem with this place?"

"The last time I walked inside and spent five minutes looking at some stuff they had on a sale table, security threw me out."

"Really?" Eric grinned wickedly. "Let's see security throw _me_ out."

"Cool!" she responded enthusiastically as they headed into the stately old building, Eric holding the polished oak and glass door for Sarah to pass through first. 

Eric approached the first clerk he saw, a young woman with short blonde hair, dressed in a silk blouse and short black skirt, arranging a table of men's sweaters. //New clothes...what a concept...// Eric thought as he surveyed the extensive men's department.

"Excuse me. We're looking for girls' dresses--like holiday or party dresses." Eric fought off a smile as he heard Sarah's little indrawn breath.

"That would be on the fourth floor. Take the elevator, and then take a right. You can't miss it. That whole half of the floor is girls' clothing."

"Great. Thanks." Eric headed toward the elevator and looked back to see Sarah frozen to her spot on the polished wood floor. "I'm going to look a little stupid shopping in girls' dresses by myself."

"Yeah, they'll probably think you're some sort of perv and have you arrested." She hurried to catch up and they walked toward the elevator. "Daryl'd love that."

"Might be worth it just to see the look on his face," Eric opined as they rode up in the elevator. When they stepped off on the fourth floor, Sarah's eyes turned to saucers. The girls' department sparkled with various Christmas lights and wreaths, and its own Christmas tree in the center. There was a table with two easy chairs near the tree, a plate of decorated Christmas cookies and a pot of coffee set out to placate and relax parents into spending a small fortune on their daughter's holiday wardrobe. "Well, go see if you can find something you like."

"I don't get it. How can you--" Eric cut her off with a finger over her mouth.

"It's Christmas." He moved the finger away. "Don't you believe in Christmas miracles?"

"For either one of us to be able to buy _socks_ in here would qualify as a miracle."

"Just look around. Leave the rest to me."

"You're not going to steal it, are you?"

"No, Sarah, I'm not going to steal it."

"Am I going to steal it?"

"Nobody's going to steal anything." He spotted an older woman in a tailored gray dress, accented with a small poinsettia pin approaching them. "You're my niece."

"Gotcha."

"May I help you?" Her expression was pleasant, but there was already a slight tone of skepticism that these two could afford anything she had to offer.

"My niece is going to be singing in a holiday choir concert, and she needs a new dress. Is it all right if she just browses around until she finds what she'd like?"

"Of course. Any ideas which color you'd like, dear?" she asked in a sacchariney tone that made Sarah cringe. Eric just smiled and headed for one of the chairs. 

"I'll just wait over here." He excused himself and watched as Sarah wandered around the department with the saleslady showing her a variety of things she wrinkled her nose at every time. Leaning his head against the chair back, he let out a long sigh and pondered what the landlord would think about getting half the rent for December. His head snapped up straight at the sound of a familiar voice not far away.

"Doesn't look much like sporting goods, does it?" Blair said, exasperation plain in his voice.

"Must've gotten off at the wrong floor," Jim responded. 

Blair Sandburg and his friend/roommate, Jim Ellison, were not forty feet away, standing near the elevators, slightly baffled at why they'd ended up on a floor with girls' clothes instead of the fishing gear they started speculating about as they headed back to press the button for the elevator. 

Eric watched the other men, torn between making himself known, and the uncertainty of the implications of making himself known to any cop other than Albrecht, whom he trusted with his life, quite literally. While he'd liked Jim Ellison, he didn't know him all that well. Before stepping on the elevator, Blair paused, as if sensing Eric's gaze from around the curve of the wing of the wingback chair in which he sat. Resisting the temptation to catch the gaze he knew was sweeping over his way, Eric shifted in the chair, turning toward the opposite direction. He heard the elevator arrive, and when he'd heard the sound of the doors closing, he turned and looked a bit regretfully at the empty space. 

The loneliness of his present existence could be almost crippling at times, and the thought of renewing and old friendship tugged at him temptingly. The damn stereo system booming out "Blue Christmas" wasn't making him feel any happier. //Yup, it's official now. Christmas sucks,// he thought dismally. 

I'll have a blue Christmas Without you, I'll be so blue Thinking about you, Decorations of red On a green Christmas tree, Won't be the same If you're not here with me...

//So what the hell's new about Christmas? I'm blue thinking about Shelly every day. Now I just get bombarded with six or eight weeks of reminders that I'm not part of anyone's family, that I don't have anyone waiting at home for me, and that the person I want to be with is on the other side of a barrier I'm not allowed to cross and when I do see an old friend I might get together with, I have to hide from him and stay alone instead...//

"Sir?"

"Yes?" He snapped out of his daze to stand at the sales woman's greeting. 

"Your niece asked if you would come back and see the dress she tried on. I told her she could come out and show you, but she asked for you to come back instead."

"Sure." Eric followed her to the fitting room area, staying outside while the clerk brought Sarah out from the back. "Wow," he said genuinely, smiling at the transformation. Sarah had chosen a simple dark green dress with a velvet bodice and short sleeves, a full satin skirt that ended just below her knees, and a matching dark green sash which boasted a small, tasteful, tailored bow situated to the left of the center in the front. 

"I look like a dork, right?" she asked immediately.

"Wrong. You look beautiful. Do you like it?" he asked, smiling.

"It's okay...for a dress." She checked her look in a nearby mirror, unable to hide the fact that she was pleased with what she saw. "Eric...it's $250!" she looked at the dangling price tag with wide eyes.

"Good. We'll have enough left over for shoes then."

"Really?!" she asked, trying to fight the excited smile that was tugging at her mouth.

"Think of it as a Christmas present from Shelly and me." Eric watched as Sarah got ready to effervesce, and then remembered her characteristic reserve.

"Cool," she responded, smiling brightly. 

"Why don't you get changed so we can check out the shoes."

"Okay." She got a few steps down the hall toward her fitting room when she turned around and smiled again. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," he replied, meaning it sincerely. The only thing that would have made it more complete would have been Shelly there with him, maybe tugging Sarah's hair around and opining how it should be swept up or curled for the occasion. Shelly with her sense of style and grace managing this little project and finessing the snooty salespeople as if she were one of Port Columbia's rich and famous. 

Sarah emerged fairly quickly from changing, and with the dress boxed and in a big gold shopping bag emblazoned with the "Harmon's" red logo, they made their way to the nearby shoe department.

The first thing Sarah picked up was a pair of two inch heels.

"Don't even think about it," Eric admonished. "I'm going to be in enough trouble with your mom without sending you home with high heels."

"Why would Darla be mad about this?"

"We didn't exactly get her O.K. for this expedition."

"She'll be cool with it." Sarah relinquished the pump and started browsing through shoes that were a bit more appropriate for her age. 

"How about these?" Eric pulled a shoe off a display shelf that was the same dark green velvet as her dress, with satin bows on the toes, and small, slightly tapered heels.

"They're perfect!" She took the shoe out of his hand and looked them over. "Do we have enough left for these?" She held up the shoe so he could see the small, discretely printed price sticker on the sole. It read $85.00. With a little gulp and a couple of blinks, Eric nodded.

Now armed with two Harmon's bags, Eric and Sarah made their way downstairs. They were joking about a few of the expensive delicacies they'd tried off the sample trays in the gourmet food department as they emerged onto the sidewalk. Eric froze in his tracks. Blair was standing on the curb with his back to them, waiting for a chance to cross.

"What is it?" Sarah asked, continuing to walk closer to Blair so they, too, could wait for the chance to cross the street. Eric grabbed her collar and hauled her back toward him. 

"Somebody I used to know."

"Him?" she asked, nodding toward Blair.

"Yeah."

"Guess you didn't like him much, huh?"

"No, I did. His best friend's a cop, and I don't know as it's a good idea for me to renew old friendships like that one right now."

"Good point." They waited until Blair stepped off the curb and headed into the street, the lone pedestrian at the intersection. Without warning, Eric's whole expression changed, and he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"Blair, lookout!!"

The car that was speeding around the corner showed no signs of stopping, and Blair had no time to move out of its path on his own. It was only the flying leap Eric made, pushing him to safety and taking the impact himself that prevented him from being hit. 

"Eric!!" Sarah shouted, tossing the bags aside forgotten as she ran into the street where a crowd was gathering, and both men lay motionless in the street. She dropped to her knees next to her fallen friend and pulled the dark hair back from his face. The familiar pallor and black rimmed eyes looked back at her, the gash on his head healing and disappearing before her eyes. 

"Let's go!" he directed in a breathy whisper, getting up and hustling out of the circle of curious onlookers, some of whom tried to grab at him to keep him at the scene. Sarah was adept at ducking the grabs, and Eric was capable of throwing off any unwanted restraints. Scooping up the forgotten bags, they raced down an alley until they were safely ensconced in a doorway. 

"Blair!" Ellison's voice carried to their hiding place, and Eric ventured a look out as Ellison battered his way through the crowd to his fallen partner. Blair, for his part, was starting to sit up now and bat away all the well-meaning hands offering to help him up.

"He's okay," Eric said, obviously relieved. "Let's get out of here."

Continued in part [two](eighthcircle1.html).


	2. Chapter 2

Due to the size of this story, it's been split into 5 parts.

## The Eighth Circle

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Continued from part one. 

* * *

**THE EIGHTH CIRCLE** \- part two  
by Candy Apple 

"That guy didn't even stop," one of the witnesses told Jim as he helped Blair back on his feet, still probing at him and questioning him to be sure he hadn't broken anything. "He ran right through the stoplight and if the guy in the black coat hadn't pushed your friend here, he'd be history," the young man informed him. Dressed in jeans and a Port Columbia Central High jacket, he looked to be about eighteen.

"Where's the guy who pushed him?" Jim asked.

"He took off. Over that way," the blonde girl with the witness added, nodding toward the alley.

The symphony of horns was sufficient to move the crowd, as well as Jim and Blair, out of the intersection and onto the sidewalk. Most of the gawkers dispersed, their lust for a little live gore thwarted. Those who were willing to serve as witnesses remained in the area, milling around on the sidewalk. 

"Okay, folks, what's going on here?" A man's voice cut through the jumble of voices and fragmented accounts of the man who, by all accounts, should be dead, but instead ran from the scene as if he'd committed a crime and not saved a life.

"Albrecht," Jim said, a bit surprised at the coincidence of running into the only cop in Port Columbia that he knew.

"What happened?"

"I waited to cross the street with the 'walk' sign, and I got out in the middle of the street, and the next thing I know, somebody shouts my name and then slams into me full tilt. I guess I banged my head when I fell, because the next thing I knew, I was opening my eyes and about fifty people were hovering over me." Blair paused to smile a little. "Hi, Daryl."

"Too bad you had to get hit by a car for us to make connections on this trip," Albrecht said, smiling back. "Look, I need to get some descriptions from these folks. Did you see the car at all?"

"Not really. I think it was light colored, but I only glimpsed something in my peripheral vision before I fell. I'd have never been able to move out of the way in time."

"Where were you?" Albrecht asked Jim.

"Blair wanted to look at a couple more things in Harmon's, so I went across the street to that shoe store. I was browsing around when I heard someone shout Blair's name."

"Must've been a loud shout to hear it all the way in there."

"I guess so," Jim responded, shrugging it off as Daryl made a couple notes on his notepad. "Anyway, I ran outside, and this guy dressed completely in black with long black hair was slamming into Blair from behind while a white Sedan deVille was heading right for both of them. I think it was a '82 or '83, but I'm not positive. I was pretty focused on Blair."

"No license number?" Daryl asked, raising an eyebrow at his fellow cop.

"Blair wasn't moving. I didn't give a rat's ass about the guy's license number," he snapped back. 

"Okay, okay, just checking," Albrecht replied. "Did you get a look at the face of the guy who pushed Blair?"

"That's the bizarre part." Jim hesitated. "He was a dead ringer for Eric Draven."

"Oh, man, this is _so_ weird."

"What?" Albrecht asked, his face betraying no sign that he knew perfectly well it could be, and probably was, Draven.

"Earlier, in the store, you know when we got off on the wrong floor?"

"Yeah," Jim responded.

"I just got this feeling...like someone was watching me. And I started thinking about Eric. I know we're in Port Columbia, and that's probably why, but still... When I heard that man call my name? It sounded just like Eric used to when he'd yell to me across the parking lot at Rainier."

"What brings you two here, anyway?"

"We had to talk to a witness in the Morgan homicide case--a lady who works at the marina--you probably read about that one?" Jim watched as Albrecht nodded, and rolled his eyes a bit. The wealthy young man who had beaten, raped and murdered his barmaid girlfriend had been the star of all the regional headlines for weeks. Putting the case against him together had taken a lot of hard work and some dumb luck. Jim continued. "We decided to stop at Harmon's to check out their sporting goods--we were looking for a gift for the captain of our unit."

"Well, it doesn't help me too much to be told you were saved by a dead man, but at least I can keep my eyes open for a Draven look-a-like." 

* * *

"You realize there's no way in hell that was Eric who pushed you out of the way earlier?" Jim asked as he pulled up to the edge of the grass and stopped the truck. Blair had flowers for both Eric's and Shelly's graves.

"I know. I've just thought about him a lot today. I won't be long." Blair got out of the car and walked up to the graves, placing the small mixed bouquets on each one. Something about seeing Blair among the tombstones made Jim shiver involuntarily. Blair had come so close to dying at Alex's hands, and now, this afternoon, with the lunatic in the white Cadillac. He'd made it clear to Albrecht before they left that he would be participating in this case, and that he wouldn't be off their backs until the driver of the car had been collared. 

Blair stayed crouched in front of Draven's tombstone for a few long minutes. Jim felt a chill dance up and down his spine as a large crow landed on top of the stone, cawing loudly and flapping its wings. Blair started a little, but then watched the bird, which became strangely still, as it watched Blair. In a moment, the bird was in flight again, and Blair stood, watching it go, as if he longed to follow it. 

Glancing around to see that they were the only ones still in the cemetery as dusk was encroaching, Jim gave the horn a light tap to get Blair's attention. All he wanted to do was gather up his lover and get the hell out of that cemetery as fast as the Ford pick-up would carry them. Seeing the man who could have been Draven's twin save Blair's life, and now, watching this surreal exchange between a giant black crow and Blair, Jim had experienced enough brushes with the bizarre to suit his tastes.

Blair moved quickly toward the truck and got inside, pulling the door shut. 

"Sorry. I didn't mean to take so long."

"It's okay, sweetheart. I just figured we better get out of here before they lock the gates."

"Yeah, I guess."

"What's wrong, Chief?" Jim asked, driving toward the entrance much faster than he'd driven into the cemetery in the first place.

"I don't know, man. There's just...something. It's like Eric's trying to tell me something."

"I know you guys were friends, but Eric's dead. You may think of him or feel closer to him because we're on his turf now, but he isn't here."

"I thought you believed in life after death. After everything that went down with Alex...Jim, I _know_ there's something on the other side."

"I'm not doubting that there is. I just don't believe in ghosts."

"Why do you suppose Eric's grave still hasn't grown over with grass? It still looks like it was just filled in recently. Like it was...like someone exhumed him or something."

"I'm sure Albrecht would have mentioned something like that."

"Why? What was he gonna say? 'Oh, by the way, we dug Eric up last month?' "

"If they did something like that, it would have to be for a damn good reason--something significant to the case. I asked him to keep me posted. The last thing I heard from him was when Danko and his goons were arrested."

"Uh-huh. And Jason Danko claimed that one of his victims had come back from the dead an attacked him."

"Danko was a lunatic who spent his time strapped to a bed drooling ever since his arrest. I wouldn't put a lot of stock in his account of things." Jim let the silence hang in the air for a few moments, seriously uncomfortable with the direction this conversation was taking. 

"When I...was on the other side, I saw Shelly."

"I remember you telling me that, sweetheart." Jim reached over and took a hold of Blair's hand where it rested on the seat. 

"I didn't see Eric. Don't you think that's odd?"

"I never thought about it that way, I guess."

"I liked Shelly, but I didn't get a chance to know her as well. Eric and I were becoming good friends. Why wouldn't it be him I saw?"

"I don't know. I'm just grateful she told you to turn back."

"Maybe he wasn't there."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean maybe he's not really dead."

"Look, Blair, I know you liked the guy a lot, and I know you've gone through a lot of personal losses in the last couple of years. But dead people just don't show up on the sidewalk in front of Harmon's on a Monday afternoon."

"Okay. I guess you're right." Blair's tone was completely unconvincing. He still harbored suspicions that something supernatural was afoot, and Jim knew perfectly well that his lover was placating him by agreeing. Relieved to be driving out of the cemetery, and every moment of his life, relieved and grateful to have Blair alive and by his side, Jim didn't pressure him any further. Blair had looked death right in the eyes, and if believing it was less absolute that it really was made him feel better, Jim had no intention of harassing him with rational explanations. 

And even Jim Ellison couldn't shake the uncanny feeling that there was more than a December chill in the air of Port Columbia.

* * *

"Maybe you ought to talk to that Blair guy. I mean, you don't exactly have a lot of social contacts," Sarah opined as they walked along the sidewalk toward her apartment building.

"I trust Albrecht. I know he's on my side. But I have no idea how Blair's friend, Jim, would respond to this."

"The big guy that ran out after you took off?"

"That's the one." Eric sighed. "Besides, Blair was probably at my funeral. Seeing me again...it would freak him out."

"I was at your funeral. I dealt."

"Yeah, you did," Eric responded, smiling down at her.

"Um, look...thanks for the dress and the shoes. They're really great." She stopped by the building's front door, trying to contain a smile that was too big to hide.

"The only thanks I want is you getting up there and singing for all your worth. And dancing a couple times with this Andy character at that mixer thing."

"I don't know about the dancing part," she responded, curling her lip a little. "But the singing I can deal with."

"Great. Now get inside and lock up, huh?"

"You sound like my mom."

"Just do it, squirt. See you tomorrow. Oh--do you need your books tonight?"

"Nope. Did my homework in study hall this afternoon. I can pick 'em up tomorrow morning if that's okay." When Eric nodded, she smiled and said, "See ya," and headed inside. After Eric heard the door lock behind her, he continued on his way back to his own apartment.

* * *

Night was falling, and Port Columbia's skyline was accented with even more sparkling dots of light as it prepared for the Christmas holiday. Eric sat on the floor just inside the window, leaning the side of his head against the frame, letting the cold air nip at his face. Emotionally drained from tears that had welled up and refused to be squelched, he wallowed in the agony of picturing what it would have been like to prepare for Christmas with Shelly. How beautiful she would have looked in the soft colored lights of their very own Christmas tree. How intense their love would have felt in this season when the ties to those you love are at their strongest.

Instead, he sat alone in the place where he died, gold candlelight flickering and casting dancing shadows on the walls.

"Eric?" A man's voice made him jump a little. Albrecht was standing about ten feet away. "Sorry, man. I knocked--a lot--and when I tried the door, it was open."

"I must've forgotten to lock it." Eric swallowed, belatedly realizing his face was still a bit damp around the eyes. 

"Bad night?" Albrecht sat on the step, not far from where Eric sat near the window. The gentleness of the other man's voice warmed something in Eric that had been frozen by the misery he lived with every day, and every night in the loft.

"Sometimes...the memories hurt more than other times," Eric responded softly.

"They say the holidays are the hardest time of the year when you've lost somebody."

"They ought to try it when you're supposed to be dead yourself." He stared out the window. "You don't really belong anywhere." He felt the swell of emotion threatening him again, but he pushed it back down. "You must've had some reason for looking me up tonight." 

"That was you this afternoon--the guy who pushed Blair Sandburg out of the path of that car."

"Yeah." Eric didn't move his gaze from the view of the city below them. "He was a good friend."

"But you didn't want to see him?"

"His best friend's a cop."

"And you don't think you could trust Ellison?"

"I don't know him. I would trust Blair, but I know that he wouldn't keep a secret like this from his partner."

"Ellison saw you. He doesn't believe it was you, so there's nothing to worry about there." Albrecht paused. "Did you see the license number on the car?"

"No. I saw it coming, but I didn't have time to really look at it. I just had to move to get Blair out of the way."

"So what are you doing for Christmas anyway?" Albrecht asked.

"What I'm doing now, probably. Why?"

"I just wondered," he responded, and Eric nodded a little and looked back out the window. "I have to go to Cordelia's mother's for Christmas dinner on Christmas Day. My folks are going to spend Christmas at my sister's in Arizona." He shrugged. "I can't get that kind of time off right now." Silence prevailed for long moments. "You want to do something Christmas Eve?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Watch corny holiday movies, go to Church, whatever."

"What about Cordelia?"

"One full day of the Waring family is more than enough for me. She has a big clan, all of them have kids...it's a zoo." Daryl laughed affectionately at the mention of his girlfriend's big, at times vocal, family. 

"She isn't mad you're not spending Christmas Eve there?"

"No. She likes some time with her family, and she knows I need some downtime. I have to work all day on the 24th anyway."

"Sure." Eric nodded, then felt a little smile tug at the corner of his mouth. "Just promise me we aren't going to watch 'It's A Wonderful Life'. I don't know if I can handle that whole angel getting his wings thing right now," Eric joked.

"Deal." Albrecht laughed quietly, then punched Eric lightly on the knee as he stood. "I better get going. I'm on a stakeout tonight."

"Okay. Thanks for stopping in," Eric said, looking Albrecht in the eyes and meaning it sincerely. The loneliness this night had been crippling, and these few moments of camaraderie would be treasured in the long, empty hours that would follow.

"Doesn't it depress you--being here?"

"Yes. Very much."

"Why do you stay then?"

"To be near Shelly," he answered honestly. "It's my link to her." Albrecht nodded in response, then walked closer to the front door. 

"Maybe you should contact Sandburg."

"I'll think about it." Draven paused. "He's been to the other side too. I could feel it."

Albrecht didn't say anything else, though he stopped to ponder that thought before pulling the door shut behind him.

* * *

"Today was too close for comfort," Jim said, his hot breath stirring the curls near Blair's ear as he took a hold of his lover's shoulders from behind. Blair was working on his laptop at the kitchen table, both of them having been strangely silent about the close call, and even more uneasy since the specter of Eric Draven had been, quite literally in Blair's opinion, hovering over them. 

"Whoever it was who pushed me out of the way, I owe him big time."

"We both do."

"When we were in Harmon's?"

"Yeah?" Jim was leaning down again behind Blair's chair, nuzzling the younger man's neck.

"It was like someone was watching me."

"Someone was." Jim's hands slid down to find the first button on Blair's dark burgundy shirt.

"Besides you," Blair responded, giving in and smiling.

"Lots of people watch you, baby."

"I'm serious."

"Okay." Jim withdrew and moved to sit in the chair next to Blair's. "Was it a bad feeling?"

"Not at all. On the contrary. I wanted to find whoever it was. I just really felt...a presence."

"Look, Blair, I know that Eric Draven's death was something you found very hard to deal with, and the brutality of it makes it that much harder, knowing that it was a violent and painful ordeal. I wasn't that close to the guy, and even after all my years as a cop, it still gives me a few chills when I think about it. No one should have to experience something like that. But the fact remains that, as unfair and brutal and unjust as it is, he's still dead."

"I can't accept that, Jim," Blair said simply.

"I beg your pardon?" Jim asked, stunned. He'd never expected such a literal--or unnerving--response to his statement.

"This past May, I was dead for a few minutes. I traveled to the other side."

"I know that, Chief. I'm not saying I don't believe that Draven may be alive _somewhere_ on another plane. I just don't believe he's Christmas shopping at Harmon's."

"Let me finish. You never want to talk about this, but I need to talk to somebody about it, and since you're my best friend, you're it."

"I'm all ears, Blair. I never mean to cut you off about this. It's just...talking about what happened with Alex, and how close you came to...how close we came to not even... _being_ a 'we'...it's hard."

"I know. For me too." Blair smiled slightly, briefly. "I went through a lot of the classic experiences people claim--I traveled out of my body, I saw all the rescue efforts going on below... But when I passed through this sort of misty...barrier, I was at the foot of a suspension bridge. It was up in the mountains, and it was so...surreal. And while I was standing there, trying to figure out what I should do, I saw someone on the bridge. This really beautiful woman in a long white dress with long, curly brown hair. As soon as she got closer, I could tell it was Shelly. I knew then I was dead for sure. But even then, I was puzzled because Eric wasn't with her--or maybe because it wasn't Eric coming to greet me in the first place."

"There aren't any concrete explanations for things like that, sweetheart."

"She didn't waste any time. She just said, 'Blair, you aren't supposed to be here. You can't cross over now.' And I said, 'My purpose is over. There's no reason for me to go back--' "

"Is that what you thought? That there was no reason for you to come back?" Jim asked, horrified.

"Our partnership and our friendship was over, I had failed everyone involved in the whole mess that ended up with what happened at the fountain. My academic life was a disaster, my sentinel project had ended up pretty much like Dr. Frankenstein's last research project, and I didn't see a reason to go back. I felt at peace in this new place, and I didn't want to face my life again. I wanted to be done with it."

"I'll never forgive myself for what I said to you, baby. Never. I was confused, and--"

"Jim, I know how you feel. And I know you weren't playing with a full deck with Alex around either." Blair took Jim's hand in both of his. "I love you, and I know you love me. I'm not telling you this to make you feel bad." Blair paused. "I asked her why she wouldn't let me cross over, and she said it wasn't her decision, but that she knew it was wrong, and that my purpose on earth wasn't finished, _just like Eric_. Then, before I could ask her what she meant, she says 'Jim won't live without you. Go back to him, Blair. He needs you. The wolf will lead you.' And then she started back across the bridge, and I turned to look back in the direction I'd come, and there was a large grey wolf standing there. He started running into the trees, and I followed him, and then all of a sudden I was watching the rescue efforts again, and you were begging me to breathe, and Simon and Henri were pulling you back and then you got away from them and started in again, and I knew you wanted me back. I could feel it. So I did what Shelly told me to do and went back."

"You told me about seeing Shelly on the bridge before. I still don't see--"

"Jim, what did she mean by _just like Eric_?"

"I assume she meant that he was murdered before his purpose on earth was finished or even realized yet. How old was he anyway?"

"I'm not sure. Late twenties, I think. I never asked." Blair was silent a few moments, staring at their joined hands on the table. "I think she meant he wasn't there. That he wasn't on the other side."

"Blair, look, I don't want to keep dwelling on this and being morbid, but I saw the crime scene, and I saw the drop from that window. I also read the coroner's reports. Trust me. He's dead."

"Then why did I have the feeling all day like he was two steps behind me?"

"Because he was--at least in spirit. You were back in Port Columbia, and you were thinking about him."

"And the guy who saved my life--who looked and sounded just like Eric?"

"Coincidence." Jim shrugged.

"I saw a crow at the grave today."

"I saw it too."

"Then at least I know it was real." Blair smiled slightly. "You know the significance of a crow, don't you?"

"No, but I imagine you're going to tell me." Jim pulled one of Blair's hands up and kissed it.

"There's a legend that says that when someone dies, a crow carries their spirit to the land of the dead."

"There are lots of trees in cemeteries, sweetheart. There are always crows around in places like that."

"It also says that if the soul can't rest, like in the case of a terrible tragedy...like what happened to Eric and Shelly...that the crow can bring the soul back to set things right." Blair looked Jim in the eyes. 

"That's all it is, baby. A legend. Come on. It's late, and we've got an early call tomorrow. I think we've dwelled on death enough for one night." Jim stood up and pulled Blair with him. "I need someone to wash my back--you busy right now?" Jim asked, draping an arm around Blair's shoulders and steering him to the bathroom.

"I think I could pencil you in for a while." Blair was quiet as they entered the bathroom and Jim started up the water. "I'm still not forgetting about Eric. Jim, I really think--"

"Look, Chief, I don't know what it is with this guy that you can't let it go. Let it rest. He's dead and has been for well over a year," Jim snapped, the words coming out harsher than intended. He started stripping off his clothes and tossing them in the corner. 

"I can't help how I feel."

"How _do_ you feel, Sandburg?" Jim stood with his wadded up jeans in his hands. Blair had only taken his shirt off so far, and hadn't remembered yet that he was still wearing his glasses. //And there's all that hair to release from the hairband,// Jim thought, his irritation vanishing.

"I feel like he's still around somehow. I haven't thought of it that way since he died, but I felt it today."

"We haven't been back to Port Columbia since the funeral last year, sweetheart." Jim watched as Blair sat on the closed toilet and leaned his elbows on his knees. He finally crouched next to the other man and ran a hand gently up and down Blair's bare back. "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Chief. It's just that this conversation is quite frankly giving me the creeps."

"You felt something in the cemetery today too, didn't you? And when you saw that guy, the one who saved me--"

"I thought, 'damn, he looks like Draven'. I never thought, 'oh look, there's Draven'. He's dead, Blair. Dead men don't come back."

"I did."

"Listen to me." Jim took a hold of Blair's chin and gently turned his lover's face until their eyes met. "You are not now, nor were you ever, a _dead man_. You stopped breathing, and your spirit may have traveled, but you didn't die at the fountain that day. There is a big difference between a few minutes of clinical death, and permanent death and burial." Jim sighed at the expression on Blair's troubled face. "Sweetheart, I wish there were some way that I could make what you want to be true, true. But it can't be."

"I just know what I feel." Blair shivered a little. 

"You know what I want to feel? Life. Us together. I want to make love to you."

"I want that too." Blair ran his hand gently over Jim's cheek, and finally smiled. "You figure all that water's cold by now?"

"Oh, man." Jim sprang from the floor and pounced on the knobs, turning off the water. "I think it's cold because I didn't get around to turning on much of the hot water." Jim re-adjusted the temperature, and when he turned around again, he smiled at the sight of a naked Blair...still wearing his glasses. "I think you forgot something, baby." Jim reached up and carefully removed the glasses, kissing the end of Blair's nose before setting them to safety on a shelf. "And this," he continued, releasing Blair's hair from its restraint.

"You forgot these," Blair noted, hooking his fingers into the elastic of Jim's boxers and giving it a tug until they were pooled at the larger man's ankles. Jim kicked them aside and pulled his lover into his arms, swooping in to bury his face in the warmth between Blair's neck and shoulder, licking and nibbling at the soft flesh there. "Maybe we should skip the shower," Blair panted, thrusting against Jim as a possessive hand slid down to grasp his left buttock.

"Want to get you nice and clean for what I have in mind, baby."

"Sounds good," Blair muttered back, pulling away long enough to capture Jim's probing mouth in a lengthy kiss. 

They stepped under the spray of water together, soaping each other, limiting the fevered caresses, trying to save the mounting arousal for the real lovemaking that would follow. When Blair turned around and braced his hands against the tiles, thrusting his ass out toward Jim, waiting for his lover to wash him, all thoughts of prolonged romance and delayed gratification seemed to disappear from Jim's mind.

He moved up behind Blair, running his hands over the warm wet body, sliding them around front to tease and arouse nipples, one hand straying down to find the straining hardness. 

"Gonna have you now, baby," he growled into his lover's ear. Blair just groaned his reply and thrust into Jim's pumping hand. 

Using the shower gel, Jim carefully but efficiently prepared Blair's snug passage, fingers probing, stretching and teasing until he was confident Blair was in as much need of their union as he was. He let one long finger reach deeply enough to put pressure on the hyper-sensitive little nub deep inside his lover.

"God...Jim... _do_ it..."

"Hang onto those tiles, Chief," Jim teased, smiling at Blair's little answering wriggle of hips. Coating himself with the shower gel, Jim carefully positioned himself at Blair's slick opening, and began sliding slowly into his lover's waiting body until they were fully joined. "You feel so good, baby," he said softly, using one hand to stroke and caress Blair's chest and belly, the other to pump his lover's cock.

"Ooh, yeah, feels good...come on, move, lover," Blair urged, clenching his muscles around the invader inside his body. Driven to the brink now, Jim began moving, pumping in rapid, steady strokes. His mouth fastened on Blair's wet shoulder, the water from the showerhead raining down on Jim's back as his body sheltered Blair from the spray.

Blair let out a cry of Jim's name, and the wild clenching of his muscles dragged cries of agonized ecstasy out of Jim as his movements became more rapid and erratic as his own climax tore through him, filling Blair. He lowered them both to their knees, still joined, and closed the drain to trap some warm water, making the unforgiving porcelain a bit less brutal. 

"So good, lover," Blair opined drowsily, his head back against Jim's shoulder. 

"Shhh. Relax baby. Gonna take care of you now," Jim whispered, slowly withdrawing from Blair's body and groping for a washcloth. He washed his lover's center thoroughly, and then brought the languid body against his chest, turning Blair so they faced each other. 

"What're you doing?" Blair asked, only curious enough to watch, but not enough to participate. It had been a long day, and this delicious, post-sex lethargy was too wonderful to waste on moving. Especially when Jim seemed inclined to do all the work for him.

"Just going to wash your hair for you, sweetheart. Otherwise you're going to smell like a wet dog once we get in bed." Jim smiled at the laugh-turned-pigsnort against his chest.

"Now _that's_ a romantic metal picture. What happened to loving my smell, huh?" Blair challenged, still chortling.

"I do love _your_ smell. It's just the smells of the day that are all nice and hot and wet now in your hair that I can live without."

"Good thing you clarified that point, man. I was deeply wounded," Blair said, through a jaw-stretching yawn, smiling as Jim's nimble fingers worked the lather into the long curls.

"I can see how upset you were."

"Mmm." Blair let out a long breath and relaxed as Jim finished working on his hair, and then rallied to get out of the water. After drying each other off, and a few minutes with the blow-dryer to get the sogginess out of Blair's hair, they retreated upstairs to bed for the night.

As he turned out the light for the last time and then snuggled under the covers with Blair, Jim felt the impact of how close he'd come, once again, to losing his life partner. And how close he'd come to spending the night either by Blair's hospital bed, or God forbid, in this bed alone, with Blair permanently ripped away from him. 

His arms tightened around Blair's body in almost a death grip. Instead of complaining, Blair just matched the pressure with his own powerful arms locked around Jim's midsection. 

"Don't you ever dare leave me, Sandburg," he managed, closing his eyes and clinging to Blair for all he was worth.

"No matter what happens to me, Jim, you know I'd never leave you...not really."

"I love you, baby. More than anything."

"I love you too, lover." Blair breathed a bit more easily as Jim's grip relaxed a little, and they settled into a comfortable tangle of limbs and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Blair stuck the bagel in the toaster and turned on the blender to mix the ingredients of the algae shake. Jim had left for work already, and Blair had just made his way downstairs, having lolled around in bed an extra hour after Jim left, napping and relishing not having to be at Rainier until ten-thirty. As soon as the blender stopped, he heard the tail end of knocking at the front door.

"Great," he muttered, seeing that his bagel was about to pop up nice and hot and toasted, and the shake was ready for consumption. The last thing he wanted at the moment was company. He made his way to the door and opened it. Words and reason failed him, and he simply gaped at the man standing across from him.

"Surprise," Eric said simply, smiling a little.

"Oh, man, this can't be happening."

"That's what I said too."

"I thought...yesterday...was it really you, yesterday, when the car ran the stop light?"

"It wasn't the good fairy." Eric looked around the hallway where he stood. "You think I could come in?"

"Uh, yeah, sure..." Blair backed away and watched the other man enter the apartment. "Look, I...I have to know if this is some kind of trick...you know, someone using Draven's ID."

"I'm kind of relieved to see you." Eric watched Blair stand there with one hand still on the doorknob, staring. Finally, Blair closed the door and moved over to stand a few feet away from his guest. "I guess you either didn't tell Ellison how you felt about him, or all our speculation about his Covert Ops training and how many ways he knew of to kill you and hide the body were all for nothing and you lived happily ever after."

"Oh my God. It's really you."

"It's really me." 

Blair moved forward without hesitation and embraced his friend, and felt the pressure returned. 

"It's so good to see you. I don't understand it," he said, pulling back, "but it's...a miracle. How...I _saw_ you...at the funeral, I went up to your casket and you were..."

"Dead as a doornail?"

"I probably wouldn't have said it just that way, but yeah," Blair responded, laughing, some of the tension broken now.

"Your bagel's up. Go ahead and get your breakfast."

"Screw breakfast. You've got to tell me everything--how this happened!"

"You may want to sit down for this one." Eric sat on one corner of the couch while Blair took the other, much the same positions they'd occupied in the Student Union when they would stop for something to eat after a rehearsal. "Everything that happened last year... _happened_. None of it was a fake or a mistake or anything. I really did die a year ago Halloween."

"What I don't understand is how you survived that fall, and then...well, you know, with it being a homicide..."

"You mean how is someone murdered, autopsied, buried and then re-animated?"

"Uh, yeah." 

"I don't know. I wish I understood it, but I don't. Albrecht even exhumed the casket after I first showed up. It was empty." Eric shook his head. "This whole thing is crazy. It's some kind of magic... something mystical I can't explain. I feel like a real live person, I don't have any physical scars of lasting damage from what happened..."

"How did you come back?"

"A lot of that's foggy. I remember being on the other side." Eric paused, catching Blair's eyes in an intense gaze. "You know what I'm talking about. You've been there too."

"How did you know that? Oh, man, this is weird. Last May, there was an incident...it's a long story, and I'll tell you all the details sometime, but I was clinically dead for a few minutes, and in that time, I...I saw Shelly."

"Shelly?" Eric's whole demeanor changed, and he became much more focused at the mention of his dead lover's name.

"I came to a bridge, and Shelly was there. Right away, she told me it wasn't my time, and that I should go back--that my purpose wasn't over... _just like Eric_. I didn't understand it then, but later, when I remembered all of it, I thought it was odd I saw her and not you. I mean, I cared about Shelly, but I didn't have the chance to get to know her as well as we knew each other, so I was surprised if I saw anyone, that it wasn't you."

"You turned back, came back here?"

"Yeah, I did. Shelly told me that Jim needed me, that he wouldn't live without me. I didn't believe it at the time--our relationship was so fucked up right then you wouldn't have recognized either one of us. But that was what turned the tide, and made us face how we felt for each other. We've been lovers ever since. Well, since I recovered, anyway," Blair added, smiling.

"I was on that same bridge, with Shelly, and then the crow appeared. She seemed to know it wasn't a good sign. And all of a sudden, she was backing away form me, telling me she'd wait for me, and I was alone on the bridge. The Crow flew away, in a downward spiral from the bridge. I followed it. I didn't care if I fell again to my death or if I moved to another plane. It was obvious that I wasn't going to be allowed to be with Shelly, so I didn't care."

"The Crow was there to lead you back to set things right."

"You know the legend."

"I'm an Anthropologist. What do you think?" Blair asked, smiling.

"Oh, yeah, right--so are you Dr. Sandburg yet?"

"No. I hit a little snag with that plan. I'll explain later. Please, tell me the rest."

"It gets really foggy there. I know I came back, that I landed in the middle of some festival--there were a lot of Hispanic people there, celebrating... I had to do a little traveling to get back to where I belonged, but I don't remember how I got there. The first thing I remember is wandering around the streets of Port Columbia wondering what the hell happened and what I was doing there. Then I went back to the loft...and it all came rushing back."

"My God...the memories must have been...unbearable."

"Yeah, they were," Eric said, nodding sadly. "I thought the grief would kill me. The anger and the pain and the frustration...the helplessness I felt...what I had to watch them do to Shelly..."

"You were outnumbered, man. You know you couldn't do anything more than what you did."

"How would you feel? To watch someone you love...she was screaming my name, begging me to help her and I couldn't do anything."

"She loved you, Eric. She would know that if you didn't save her, it would only be because you couldn't." Blair watched his friend as he sat sideways on the cushion, one elbow on the back of the couch, both hands fidgeting with the ring he wore on a long silver chain around his neck. He'd pulled it out from under his t-shirt while they talked, unconsciously it seemed, and now he was almost mesmerized by it. 

"Shelly's ring?" Blair asked softly. Eric nodded, then looked up, almost startled that he'd been fidgeting with it.

"They stole it. Pawned it along with my guitar. I got them both back." There was an anger in Draven's eyes then that flashed like black fire in the two large orbs. 

"What made you come and see me today?"

"Truthfully?" Eric paused, then dropped the ring back so it hung around his neck, resting on the front of his black t-shirt. "It's just been a lousy few days. And this season...sucks."

"It's a hard time of year if you've lost somebody."

"Even harder when you lost yourself at the same time," Eric responded, then forced a little smile. "I don't mean to sound so grim, it's just..."

"Whatever your reason was, I'm really glad you came. I missed you, man. Hanging out at Rainier--it just wasn't the same anymore."

"How'd the play turn out anyway?" Eric asked, smiling at the memory of their short-lived careers as stage stars.

"It got good reviews. I dropped out of it, and I didn't go to it."

"Because of me?"

"Next to Jim, you were my best friend. I went to the next rehearsal, and they played the first notes of 'Hair', and I took off outta there like a bat out of hell. I never went back. I couldn't handle it. That was _our_ project. Doing it alone...just didn't cut it." 

"All that seems like a lifetime ago." Eric laughed then. "I guess now that I mention it, it _is_."

"You said you followed the crow and found yourself back here... So were you involved in what happened to the creeps Albrecht arrested a couple months back?"

"Intimately." Eric paused. "Just how much do you want to know about me?"

"As much as you'll tell me."

"As I recall, you don't shock too easily."

"Not really," Blair responded, smiling. "Hey, can I get you anything? Coffee or something?"

"No thanks. I actually...haven't had anything like that since..."

"Oh," Blair said, nodding. "Albrecht--he knows too?"

"Yeah, he knows."

"That'll freak Jim out." Blair laughed a little. "He accepts it?"

"I'm not sure how he explains it to himself," Eric said, shrugging a little. "He's seen proof. There are some things you don't know about me. Things that might...change your mind about wanting to keep in touch."

"You sprout fangs and plan on draining me dry at midnight?"

"Not exactly," Eric responded, smiling even though he really didn't seem to feel like it. "I'm not really sure what happens myself, but sometimes I go through a...transformation of sorts. Usually when I'm angry, hurt, threatened... My whole appearance changes."

"How?" Blair was fascinated with this new wrinkle, and tried hard not to think of all the research possibilities that could sprout from this situation. //Oh to get Eric into a lab for a couple hours...//

"It's mostly my face." Eric thought a moment. "Picture Marilyn Manson with his mascara running."

"That was a mental picture I really didn't need before breakfast. So it's like make-up?"

"It looks that way...but it isn't. It comes from...within." Eric shook his head. "I don't understand it. I suppose it's my real nature showing through."

"And what role does The Crow play in all this now? Any at all?"

"He's my...spirit guide."

"Your what?" Blair asked, his eyes widening a bit.

"Sometimes I see through his eyes, and he leads me where I need to go. Like a guide."

"Whoa." Blair sat back in the cushions, staring straight ahead.

"What?"

"Mine's a wolf."

"Your what?"

"My spirit animal. It's a wolf."

"You _have_ a spirit animal?" Eric looked at his friend, a bit disbelieving.

"I guess that's not too common, is it?"

"Let's just say I thought I was part of a more exclusive club."

"When I was...on the other side?" Blair watched as Eric nodded, then continued. "The wolf led me back to Jim. And before that, Jim had a dream about me, a dream in which he caused my death, which is part of why things fell apart between us at the time. And in that dream, he shot a wolf, and the wolf transformed into me." Blair longed to complete the story, to explain Jim's sentinel abilities, the important role of Jim's own spirit guide...but all that was part of Jim's confidence, and Blair didn't feel it was his to reveal.

"You're not messing with my head here, are you?" Eric asked.

"Did I ever do that before?"

"No, but this is...surreal. I thought you might be broad-minded enough not to slam the door in my face and hang garlic around the apartment to keep me away, but I didn't expect you to pull out your spirit animal so we could compare notes."

"There's more to my relationship with Jim than a friendship or even our new relationship as lovers. I just don't think I should say anything without talking to Jim first."

"Whatever. Look, am I screwing up your schedule?"

"Oh, man, I've gotta call the U." Blair got up and headed for the phone, and Eric stood.

"I can go--"

"Stay put. This is more important. I can get someone to stand in for me. All I was doing was giving an exam. My student assistant can handle that."

While Blair was on the phone, the key turned in the lock, and before either man knew it, Jim stepped through the door. His eyes met Draven's, and the two men stared at one another in mute shock.

"What are you?" Jim asked, obviously having accepted that Draven wasn't an ordinary human being. "You don't have a heartbeat, you don't have a pulse. What the hell are you?" he demanded as Blair hung up and placed himself between the two men.

"Jim, come on, cool it, man. It's Eric--"

"I don't know what the hell it is, but it isn't Eric Draven. I saw what was left of Eric Draven, and believe me, that guy's not up walking around."

"Guess again," Draven retorted, his tone a little less than friendly by now.

"Look, I don't know what kind of sick game you're playing, but it ends now."

"You know I'm not playing any games." Draven walked slowly toward the detective, a cocky look in his dark eyes. He was only marginally shorter than Jim, and not in the least intimidated by him. "You of all people know that I am what I say I am."

"I'm warning you, pal. If walking around impersonating a dead man is your idea of a good time, do it on your own time and leave us out of it."

"How would I fake not having a heartbeat?" Draven challenged. 

"I don't know. I don't know what you are but I do know that whatever you are, you aren't Eric Draven and you're not welcome here. There's only one explanation for what you are, and it isn't good."

"And what is that?" Draven challenged with a little sneer. "A ghost? A _bogeyman_?" he added, all eyes, expression, and gestures.

"Jim, come on, man, leave him alone. It really _is_ Eric."

"Blair, this maniac is feeding off your delusions. I never told you this, but I saw Draven's corpse at the morgue. There's no way in hell that he's walking around anywhere except on a fluffy white cloud in the great beyond."

"I can't explain what this is any better than you can. But I _am_ Draven. That much I do know." He stared at Jim's unyielding expression. "You need proof?"

"That would be helpful," Jim shot back, and before he knew it, two strong hands clamped on either side of his head.

"Eric--?" Blair shouted, his eyes turning to saucers as he watched the horrified look on Jim's face until the other man backed away, watching him calmly, with a little bit of satisfaction in his expression.

"My God...what...?"

"You wanted proof, now you've got it." He turned to Blair. "I'll get a hold of you later."

"Stop right there. You aren't going anywhere until this is settled," Jim said to the other man's retreating back. Draven stopped.

"Look, I've got no argument with you, Ellison. Don't start one with me."

"You started one with me when you came into my home and started stalking after Blair. I don't know what the hell you are, but whatever it is, there's no place for it here."

" _Your_ home." Draven turned, and both Blair and Jim took a step back at what they saw. The deceptively ordinary appearance of Eric Draven had given way to a stark white face, eyes rimmed in black with short trails reminiscent of black tears pointing downward from each one. The mouth was a black painted smile. "Funny, I thought it was Blair's home as well," he challenged, moving closer to Ellison again. 

"That's far enough." Jim drew his gun.

"For God's sake, Jim, come on! It's Eric--"

"Blair, give it a rest. I know he was your friend but this isn't him. I don't know what this is, but it can't be Eric Draven."

"Go ahead. Give it your best shot, Rambo," Draven goaded, holding out his arms and moving a bit closer. To everyone's surprise, including Jim's, he pulled the trigger. Draven lurched a little, but then looked back up at him with a devilish smile.

"Ouch. And this was a new t-shirt, too," Draven added, fully expecting another shot. Instead, Jim stared at the spot where the bullet had entered Draven's body. As the other man raised pale, dark-nailed hands up to hold the material aside, the bullet hole healed over and vanished, the flesh appearing completely unmarred. Draven looked back up at him with a challenging little sneer. "You're not normal either, Ellison. I know what you are, too."

"What do you think you know?" Ellison challenged, still staring at the healed over flesh with bugged eyes.

"You possess powers that set you apart from other men. Which is why you knew I didn't have a heartbeat without ever getting within ten feet of me." Draven paused. "How long should we go on with this little dance? I'm not here to hurt Blair. I wouldn't have bothered pushing him out of the path of that car if that was what I was after. I don't have any arguments with you either. But if you want to start one, I'll finish it."

"This is ridiculous. There's no reason for this to be a confrontation," Blair said reasonably getting between Draven and Ellison. The eyes that met from either side of Blair were blue ice and black ice, neither showing any sign of submitting to the other's will. Whatever transformation Eric had gone through had removed his quieter, gentler tendencies, and seemed to thrive on aggression. He was cocky, confident and enjoying putting Jim through the paces.

Jim, for his part, stood his ground commendably. His gun was useless, the man he faced had no heartbeat, no pulse, and had gone through a bizarre transformation into something that looked like a demented, evil mime. Despite this, Ellison kept his calm. Tucking his weapon in its holster, he stood facing Draven, unarmed.

"What do you want?"

"That's a loaded question. But for your purposes, suffice it to say I'm just visiting a friend." Draven paused a couple of beats. "I'd like to think I'm visiting two friends."

"This is insanity. No one can live without a heartbeat."

"I never said I was alive. You keep insisting on that label."

"You want me to accept that you're back from the dead?" Jim asked, utterly disbelieving.

"You're the one who keeps insisting that you saw me dead. And yet here I am. You do the math. Call Albrecht. Maybe you'll believe him." Draven turned and headed for the door.

"Hey, wait a minute," Blair spoke up, but Eric held up a forestalling hand. 

"I'll be in touch." He ducked out the door and pulled it shut behind him. 

"I can't believe you seriously _shot_ him." Blair shook his head and started pacing. "What if he _had_ just been some sort of psycho who was play-acting?"

"He wasn't, Chief. He has no fucking _vital signs_! How much more do you need to see before you realize that whatever he is, it isn't natural?"

"No, probably not. But it isn't evil, either."

"So how do you explain him turning from Eric Draven into a KISS wannabe right in front of us?"

"It's a transformation he goes through when he feels threatened or angry. Jim, he's not normal. I know that. But he isn't some demon from hell either."

"I can't believe you're buying into this whole thing." Jim headed toward the telephone in the kitchen.

"You of all people should be a little more open to something that defies conventional explanation."

"There's a big difference between having heightened senses and getting up out of your grave and walking around! Or taking bullets in the chest at point blank range and surviving--no, _healing_ right there on the spot."

"You know what's really bothering you about Eric?"

"Yes, I do. The fact I saw him dead on a coroner's slab back in Port Columbia, and then again in his casket and he just showed up here in my living room."

"No." Blair shook his head. "You have to take him on faith. You can't test him. You have to _believe_. There's no way to gather proof."

"What are you driving at?" Jim finally put down the phone he'd picked up, exasperated and knowing Blair was going to finish his little oration whether Jim surrendered willingly or not.

"Since you tuned in to your abilities again, you can assess whether someone's lying, you can know if they're for real just by listening to their vital signs. Eric has none. So you have to go on faith. You have to believe him, or you have to trust my ability to judge him and believe me that he's not evil, not a devil or a demon, or some kind of imposter."

"Blair, listen, I know Eric Draven was a friend of yours. I also know you've had to go through a lot of losses, and the thought of getting one of those friends back is pretty damned attractive--"

"Who wouldn't like to have back all their dead loved ones? That's not what this is about. Jim, Incacha wasn't just talking to have something to say when he said he passed the way of the shaman on to me. Part of a shaman's ability is communicating with the dead. I _know_ that Eric's for real. Not just because he knows some confidences of mine that no one else on earth besides you would know, and not just because I've missed him and I want it to be true. But because I can feel it. And I was there, Jim. I was on the other side, in the 'place of the dead' as Eric calls it. And Shelly tried to give me a hint that Eric wasn't there--she said my purpose wasn't finished, _just like Eric_. So if you can't believe in him, believe in me. I know what I'm talking about."

"I know you _believe_ what you're saying--"

"Three days before he was murdered, I told Eric how I felt about you, and that I was afraid to tell you about it. He thought I should go for it, take my chances... The point is, I never told anyone else about that. He was the only friend, outside of you, that I would have trusted with a confidence that big. And today, he referred to that conversation in a specific way only he could."

"Even if I accepted that this was some resurrected form of Draven, how do we know the forces behind him are forces of good and not forces of evil? Look, Blair, my biggest problem here isn't accepting that he's Draven, or even that he's back from the dead, though both of those things are still sinking in at the moment. The biggest problem is just accepting that he's someone we want to trust and have for a best buddy. Even if we believe everything supernatural about this guy, there's nothing to say that the power that's behind him isn't pure evil, and that trusting him isn't going to mean our deaths."

"Maybe we have to take it on faith."

"Maybe there are evil forces that act against sentinels--did that ever occur to you? All I know is that every radar I've got is on full alert with this guy, and I don't trust him."

"Because he's not human and you're scared. You can't give him an on the spot lie detector test, because he doesn't have normal vital signs for you to go by. Jim, you have believe him. Trust him. You can't bypass the option of trusting a friend to test his honesty with your senses." Blair paused. "Do you trust anyone on faith anymore, or do you always use your senses to sniff them out, so to speak?" Blair watched as Jim paced a little, still seemingly deep in thought over what to do about the Draven situation. 

"I use my senses on everyone but you." He stopped and faced Blair, who swallowed as he processed that thought. He was the only person Jim took on faith and trusted without engaging his senses to verify everything.

"That means a lot to me, man." Blair moved across the room until he was only inches from Jim. 

"Maybe now you can understand why I don't want to take any chances with you." Jim framed Blair's face with both hands. "I almost lost you...twice in the last six months now, after what happened yesterday. I don't want you to get lured in by this character if he isn't what he says he is. I'd never be able to live with myself if I let him do something to hurt you...or worse."

"He isn't going to hurt me, Jim. He saved my life yesterday, and when he was alive, outside of you, he was my best friend. He was the first person I told about how I felt about you...how I felt about Borneo and why I didn't go... That trust doesn't die, even if one of the friends does. I know him, and I also know he's not evil or some kind of devil that's trying to drag me back to the other side." Blair paused as a look of horror swept over Jim's features. "Is that what you think? That I cheated death somehow and now he's coming to collect?"

"It crossed my mind."

"Oh man." Blair moved into Jim's arms and held on tightly while the crushing hold was returned. "You thought he was some sort of Angel of Death?"

"It made sense. You were on the other side and you got away--came back. I was...I thought maybe...you weren't supposed to do that."

"Shelly wouldn't let me cross over. The other side didn't want me yet."

"I'm glad to hear that." Jim was quiet a minute, just holding Blair. When he spoke again, his voice was strained, husky. "Because they can't have you unless they make room for two of us."

* * *

Albrecht was about to insert the key in the car door lock when he stopped cold. He could sense a presence close at his back. When he spun around, Draven was looking back at him innocently.

"How do you do that?" he asked, exhaling and shaking his head a little.

"I thought you should know that Ellison might cause you some problems."

"Any special reason?"

"I went to see Blair, because I thought Ellison was gone for the day, and he showed up at the apartment. We had words, and he shot me."

"Are you all right?" The concern on Albrecht's face and in his voice made Draven smile slightly.

"Yeah, you know me. But he knows the score now, and I got a little pissed off and said something to the effect that he should ask you for verification of who and what I was. So I'm thinking he might do that."

"If he saw you survive being shot at point blank range, he's probably got a lot to mull over. Thanks for the warning anyway. How'd Sandburg react?"

"He was a little freaked at first, but he was glad to see me. Outside of Sarah, he's the first person who has been, so I'm glad I went."

"He doesn't have to explain you to Vincennes," Albrecht quipped, referring to his lieutenant. He finished opening the car door and got in, leaving it open a moment. "I'll let you know if Ellison gets in touch with me." He cast a glance up at the sky. "Damn. Looks like we're going to get that ice storm they've been warning about all day."

"You working tonight?"

"Yeah, I'm covering for a couple guys going on stakeout. I was supposed to be going home now, but I'm just running out for dinner instead."

"You look tired," Draven observed.

"Yeah, well, I was on an all night stakeout last night, and I worked a 10-hour day before I even went out on it. I won't feel bad to get out of here tonight."

"Stay present," Eric warned, and Albrecht nodded, smiling. 

"I'll do my best." He pulled the car door shut and pulled away from the curb, leaving Eric standing near the spot where the car had been.

Continued in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

Due to the size of this story, it's been split into 5 parts.

## The Eighth Circle

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Continued from part two. 

* * *

**THE EIGHTH CIRCLE** \- part three  
by Candy Apple 

A loud gust of wind robbed Port Columbia of all traces of artificial lights. The darkness spread over the city as rapidly as if a large, black blanket had been thrown over the skyline. From where he sat perched near the shattered remains of the round window of his home, candles flickering all around, Draven could have cared less. He had power in the loft apartment now, but rarely used it. His guitar and amplifier were the main draws on the power supply, and since all his ties with Shelly had been shattered, there was no music in his soul anyway.

He straightened and stood, drawn by an almost morbid fascination to gaze down again at the path he'd taken so violently the night of his death. Now he was just the black-clad figure in the window. //The ghost in the tower,// Eric thought, smirking a little. 

Very few people would choose the night of a major blackout and a dangerous ice storm for a long walk in the city. But then Draven had nothing to fear from the elements, and the cover of darkness was comforting. 

There was the predictable looting going on in one of the downtown business districts, and he felt a vague stirring of responsibility to do something about it, and yet he kept walking. //Why should I? I finally set things right, evened the score with Top Dollar, and ended up being punished for it instead of rewarded. Let the cops deal with the petty thieves,// he concluded. 

//The cops...bet Albrecht's having a busy night,// he mused with a slight smile. He'd been trying to come up with some reason to see a bright side to his existence since his run-in with Skull Cowboy, and his bizarre encounter with Top Dollar. The loneliness that had followed in those first weeks had been so bitter as to be crippling. He'd sat for days on end, staring at the window of the loft, numb in one sense and yet hurting so deeply it was impossible to make himself move or respond or care about anything in his environment.

Sarah had broken through that barrier first, had let him know how important he was to her, and it had thawed a portion of his frozen soul. The visit from Albrecht two days later had done the rest. He hadn't said much, really. Just shown up, found Eric again seated on the floor, staring at the window. So what had Albrecht done? Sat on the floor next to him and stared out the same window for close to an hour before Eric finally gave in and spoke. 

The conversation wasn't really profound, and Eric had no way of expressing the misery he felt, but sharing the long, lonely hours of that evening with a friend had eased it. And it had also left him to deal with a revelation that wasn't completely welcome and yet was totally undeniable: he loved Daryl Albrecht with every fiber of his being. This man had defied his superiors to continue to hunt for the men who had ended Eric's and Shelly's lives so brutally, and time after time he laid his job and sometimes his life on the line to be Eric Draven's friend. To show love and allegiance to a dead man.

Loving your friends isn't unusual, and it shouldn't even be troubling. But somehow, this was. It was the power of that love that was disturbing to the solitary figure who now found himself walking down the sidewalk of a quiet residential neighborhood. //The angel of death slipping through the shadowy streets of the darkened city,// Eric thought with a little snort of a laugh. 

In all his life, he'd only loved one other person with this degree of devotion, and that was Shelly. And he loved Sarah, very much. More than words could say. She was like a life force...like light and warmth in an unending icy winter. She believed him when no one else, including Albrecht, believed him. She had been happy to see him from the moment he staggered into the loft and collapsed on the floor. //Poor kid. If she'd been any other kid that who she is, she'd have been scared to death.//

All that being equal, his love for the man who had protected him time and again, who, in his quiet way, had become his friend despite all the odds against it, was frightening in its power. This was the kind of love that you built lifetimes on, wrote songs about... The kind of love he thought had been ripped away forever when he'd been ripped away from Shelly.

So what would loving Daryl Albrecht bring him? More pain. Eric sighed loudly, absently wondering what it would be like to be part of one of the families tucked safely in one of the attractive homes he was passing as he walked. To be normal again. To know where you belonged instead of wandering the slick streets alone while liquid ice poured out of the sky. To be thoroughly chilled by the freezing rain and the chill in the air. To have someone warm to go home to instead of an empty loft that was the site of your murder... To trim Christmas trees and look forward to the holiday along with the rest of the world...

He'd never had a relationship with a man before. He wasn't averse to checking out a good-looking man, but whatever little leanings he might have had in that direction, he'd never explored fully. Maybe because sex was at its best when it sprang from love, and he'd never _loved_ another man before. At least not that way. He could honestly say that he loved Blair, but they were buddies from the start, and that spark of romance hadn't been there for either of them.

The band had been like a bad joke. All his life he'd read interviews with rock stars, hearing them tell of how they loved their bandmates like brothers, how they were like a family... Eric had expected to finally find that when he put his own band together from various struggling musicians he met and with whom he formed casual friendships. After being tossed around from one foster home to another most of his childhood, he'd hoped to find that elusive dream of "family" with his bandmates. 

The only ways they'd been like a family is that they fought all the time and spent way too much time together. When he'd come back, he'd kept the vain hope that perhaps they would be happy to see him. Even when he was about to challenge them over "Seven Circles", he hoped to see that his death had caused them some pain, some sense of loss. Instead it had been their ticket to success, and none of them were especially interested in entertaining the possibility that he was who he said he was, and even if he were, it was clear they didn't care.

He found himself standing in front of Albrecht's house. It was well after midnight, so the absence of any flickering candlelight wasn't really an indicator of whether or not anyone was home. Cordelia's car was nowhere in sight, so if Daryl was in there, he was alone. The glaze of ice on the driveway showed no signs of recent tire tracks.

//So you're just going to go up to the door and say "hi, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop in"?// He was jarred out of his thoughts by a pair of headlights as their beams swept over him. Albrecht's car stopped at the end of his driveway, and he put down the window.

"Draven? What's up?" he asked, looking concerned. 

"Nothing. I was just out walking..." He let the sentence trail off with a shrug. "Sorry," he said with a slight smile, "I didn't mean to be loitering out here."

"You didn't notice the storm?" Albrecht asked, deadpan. Eric simply looked up at the sky as the sleet continued to pour from it. He shrugged and made a dismissive face.

"I noticed it," he responded, nodding a little as he looked back at his friend who was still in his car.

"You want to come in for a while?"

//More than anything...// Eric thought.

"It's late."

"So? I don't keep banker's hours. I'll be up a while yet."

"Yeah. Okay." 

"Go on up to the front door. I'll let you in." Daryl put up his window and drove the rest of the way into the driveway. Eric strolled up to the porch and waited by the door.

In a matter of moments, Albrecht swung open the door and stepped aside for him to come in, shutting and locking it behind them. 

"Except for the lack of ice, it's not much better in here," Daryl said, leading the way upstairs. "Cordie keeps telling me I should get a gas furnace." Heading into the kitchen, he started rifling through the cupboards. "Oh, hey, I've got some dry clothes you can borrow."

"I guess I _am_ dripping on the floors," Eric observed, snorting a little laugh that didn't have much of a smile with it.

"I thought you might be cold." Daryl paused. "Do you _feel_ the cold?"

"More inside than outside," Eric answered honestly, his focus fixed on the water that was dripping off his clothes onto the floor.

"The bedroom's this way." Daryl started up another set of stairs with Eric following behind him. "I've got a suit of black sweats," Daryl offered with a little smile. Eric actually laughed at that.

"Sounds good."

"Gotta keep the look intact."

"I've been told black is a fashion statement," Eric added, almost sadly. His thoughts strayed back to Skull Cowboy, his dry humor and the choice he'd offered Draven. Donning the black clothes had been just a part of making that choice. 

"Something wrong? I was just kidding about--"

"No, I was just thinking about something else," Eric responded quickly, forcing a slight smile as he accepted the folded clothes. 

"I'll grab you a towel."

"Great." Eric started peeling off the wet clothes, and despite his usual lack of interest in physical sensations of temperature, it felt good to get the heavy, clammy things off his skin. By the time Daryl came back with a towel, that was all Eric wore...his skin. "Thanks." He took the towel and started drying off, thinking that for just a split second, Albrecht had appeared...rattled somehow. He had to see plenty of naked guys on a fairly regular basis--at the gym, the PD locker room... //Maybe it was just seeing _me_ that way,// Eric thought, not sure if that was good or bad.

"You want some hot chocolate?" Daryl called back, halfway downstairs. Then the footsteps stopped. "Do you drink things like that?"

"Not usually," Eric responded. 

"Okay." The footsteps continued until he could hear Daryl rattling around in the kitchen.

After drying off and pulling on the sweats, Eric glanced at himself in the mirror. Even his socks were black. He shook his head a little and headed downstairs. 

"Want me to start a fire?" he offered, figuring that if the heat wasn't working it would just keep getting colder. While he didn't really care, he knew Albrecht would be uncomfortable.

"Uh...how do you mean?"

"What?" Eric looked back at him from the living room, puzzled. The other man was making the hot chocolate the old fashioned way, in a pan on the stove. 

"Starting fires...how do you do that?"

"Well, with some wood, maybe some newspaper, a match..." Eric retorted, grimacing a little at the question. Then it dawned on him. "I don't just point and zap, Albrecht."

"I just wondered. Sure. That'd be great," Daryl added, smiling a little.

Eric set about his task with the fire, and soon it was starting to crackle invitingly. 

"Nice tree," he commented, checking out the Christmas tree that was bedecked with everything from pine cones to glittering crystal ornaments to satin ribbons and what looked like a myriad of lights. "Bet it's really something when the power's on," Eric quipped.

"Yeah, that was Cordelia's creation. I have a big box of ornaments I always used to use, but she's one of these people who wants a tree that looks like something out of 'Better Homes and Gardens'. Hey--grab some of those cushions and toss 'em down by the fire, huh?" Daryl was busily preparing some kind of food to go with the hot chocolate, and while the thought of food didn't do much for Eric one way or the other, there was something tremendously cozy about the whole thing. 

Eric followed the directive and placed a couple of big sofa pillows and the cushions in front of the fire and sat down on one, poking at the logs with the fireplace poker.

"So how'd you get out of working all night during a blackout?"

"I've been working for 48 hours straight. Vincennes is of the mentality that a cop who hasn't slept for 48 hours is more help off the streets than on them. He's probably right." Albrecht made his way to the living room with a tray containing two large mugs of the hot chocolate and a plate with two large cold meat sandwiches on it. "If you don't want anything, you don't have to take it. But since power's off in my fridge, I figured I might as well make up what was there. I'm going to go up and grab a sweater and get out of this tie. I'll be back."

"I'll be here," Eric responded, still poking at the fire.

Moments later, Daryl returned in a pair of jeans, a turtleneck and a gray pullover sweater that looked like it had seen better days. He took a seat a bit closer that Eric had expected, but then Eric concluded he was seeking out as much warmth as he could from the fire. 

"What made you go out on a night like this? The club's still closed, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Eric responded, thinking of India, and why the club was closed. And how he was going to pay the rent now, since dead men couldn't collect unemployment. "I was just...stir crazy I guess." He turned away from Albrecht's penetrating gaze and stared into the fire. "Some nights...are harder than others," he said, his voice barely audible.

"Still no contact with Shelly?" Daryl asked softly.

"None. Not a murmur, not a feeling..." Eric sighed, drawing his knees up to his chest, folding his arms and resting them on top of his knees. "Sometimes it's like being trapped in a nightmare where you're not allowed to wake up."

"Do you ever think about leaving the loft?"

"It's my only point of contact with Shelly. The portal is there."

"But staying there...can't be good for you." Daryl joined him in staring into the fire. "The memories have to be...it must be hard."

"Ah, but the good memories... You know how it feels when you're outside on a really cold day, and all of a sudden you step out of the shade into the sunshine, and all the chill is just...gone? That's how a memory of Shelly feels." Eric turned away from the fire to look at his friend. "I live for that," he said with a slight smile, which then began to falter. "At least, I used to. And then I was handed the chance to go back, and I didn't take it. So maybe I'm being punished now for that." A frightening thought crept into his mind then, and the fear it engendered must have shown in his eyes, because Albrecht's expression changed, became intense, concerned.

"What's wrong?" When the other man continued to stare at him blankly, Albrecht asked again. "Eric," he almost-whispered, "tell me what's wrong."

"What if..." The muscles of Eric's throat worked overtime as he tried to find his voice again. "What if she went without me--all the way?"

"All the way...?"

"All the way to the light. Across the bridge. I was sent here to set things right. Before I tangled with Top Dollar again, the score was considered settled, and it was time for me to go back to Shelly. I had a chance to be with her and I...I let it go. I turned it down. Maybe she...isn't waiting for me anymore."

"Shelly was a good person, Eric. She would have understood that you had to try to save India."

//This wasn't about India, as much as I cared for her. This was about you. The bastard hurt _you_ , could have killed you. Might have if I had left...//

"Your hot chocolate's getting cold," Eric noted quietly, turning back to stare into the fire again. Moving to take both mugs off the tray, Albrecht held one out to him. 

"Would it hurt anything if you...drank something?"

"Smells good," Eric admitted with a grin. He accepted the mug and wrapped his hands around it. He could vaguely remember doing that before, long ago--holding a coffee cup or a hot chocolate cup tight in his hands to ward off the cold.

"Shelly wouldn't punish you for trying to save a friend's life. You do know that?"

"Shelly wouldn't, but maybe she didn't have a choice. Maybe she was sent on to the light...to whatever lies at the end. I didn't choose to go, so maybe I was left behind."

"How could things be set right if Danko was still loose, killing innocent people?"

"I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore. But then I haven't really _known_ much of anything about all this to begin with. It's been a learn-as-you-go experience."

"I think it was pretty amazing that you chose to stay and end things with Top Dollar than to take what you, personally, had wanted for so long. That had to take a lot of selflessness."

"Not all that much," Eric replied, looking at the hot chocolate, and then hesitantly taking a little sip. The flavor exploded on his tongue, and as he swallowed it, he could feel the warmth travel through his body just like hot drinks on a cold night always used to do. 

"Since you've been back, have you--"

"Not before now." Eric smiled into the cocoa. "It tastes like it used to. Well, actually better, because I always had the powdered stuff in the little envelopes."

"That's not real hot chocolate, man," Albrecht responded, laughing. //God, I love his laugh, his smile, the sensitivity I see in those deep, dark eyes of his,// Eric thought, looking away, his own smile fading. "Something's bothering you."

"Nothing new." He took another sip of the cocoa. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why did you keep the murder case open so long when everyone wanted you to close it?"

"You know, being a cop, you see a lot of rotten things. Being a homicide cop, you see even rottener things than the average. It takes a lot to shock me--hell, to even make an _impression_ on me. This case did."

"Why? I mean, a few things were happening with the band, but nothing major. And Shelly was a great photographer, but not too many people had discovered that yet. We were...we weren't important."

"Everyone's important, Draven. A life isn't measured by the fame or the success of the victim. At least not to a decent cop."

"Your boss wanted it closed. Why did you care? Was it just some compulsion to finish things up? To get closure?"

"Do you really want to talk about this? I don't know how much to say to you about what happened."

"I lived it. There isn't much you can tell me that I haven't figured out."

"It was the cruelty of it. The needless brutality. The utter waste of two young lives. When I arrived on the scene, the first thing I saw...the first thing I saw was a yellow sheet spread out on the sidewalk below the loft, covering..."

"Me."

"Yeah."

"It's okay, Albrecht. It's nothing I haven't tried to picture. Nothing I haven't thought of."

"I was thinking what a horrible way that was to die. And then I saw the ambulance guys bringing out the second victim. She was still alive, but barely." Daryl turned to look into the fire.

"When we first met, you told me that my name was the last thing she said. How coherent was she?"

"Are you sure you want to know this?"

"Yes."

"She was coherent enough to know what had happened. She had massive internal injuries. The doctors thought they might have done an adequate job in the emergency surgery they did when she was brought in, but they didn't hold out much hope. I spoke to her for a few brief seconds in the emergency room. All she could keep repeating was your name, and telling me that they'd killed you. I waited until she came out of the anesthetic, which she did. She never could give me good descriptions." Albrecht paused, looking at Draven's profile in the firelight as the other man stared straight ahead. "This isn't solving anything, man. Revisiting all this old pain."

"I want to know. It's the most important thing that ever happened to me, and I want to know. Did you go to her funeral?"

"It was a double ceremony, and yes, I went to it. I have to confess I went largely for the case."

"Because killers sometimes show up at the victims' funerals, right?"

"Right. There were a lot of young people there. Sandburg and Ellison were there."

"I don't have any family left, but Shelly's mom should have been there."

"She was. So was Sarah. Darla had even pulled herself together enough to take her there. A lot of kids...they're afraid of death. She wasn't. She went right up to the caskets and-- Oh, man, you probably really don't need to hear stuff like that."

"No...it's okay. I asked. What happened?"

"She kissed you both good-bye."

"They could...we were...you know, presentable?"

"Very much so. Your cause of death was massive internal hemorrhaging due to injuries sustained in the fall. That doesn't always show under those circumstances. And Shelly's face wasn't badly marked."

"Thank you for taking care of Sarah. That was a really decent thing for you to do."

"I had already seen two ungodly tragedies in that case. I didn't want to see a third. Sarah's a bright kid...and I could tell you and Shelly were her best adult role models at that point." Albrecht took another drink of his hot chocolate. 

"You've never investigated a nasty double homicide before?"

"Yes, a couple of them, actually. But the reason this one got under my skin was because of the pain you both had been through... I couldn't fathom the anguish it was for both of you of seeing the other attacked that way. She knew you were dead, and you had to have seen at least part of her assault before..."

"I saw plenty. Part of their fun was holding me back so I had to watch...listen to her screams... Well, you saw the tape. All of it I assume." Eric set the cup aside and wrapped his arms around himself, his legs crossed Indian-style now on the floor. "I would have so gladly died to help her. To save her." He felt a tear trickle down his cheek, and did nothing to interfere with it. "You can't know what it's like to watch the unspeakable pain of someone you love, and not be able to do anything to help."

"I think maybe I do. I watch yours all the time," he said softly. Eric's head snapped up at that, and he locked gazes with Daryl.

"What are you saying?" Eric asked, trying to find the answers in the dark depths of the other man's eyes.

"Look, I just meant that--"

"Don't dismiss it." Eric turned until he was sitting facing Daryl. "Please, you have to tell me why you said that." Just then, the telephone rang. 

"I...have to get that. I'm sorry." Daryl got up and hurried to the phone. "Albrecht." 

Eric was only marginally aware of the conversation going on behind him. He felt desperate at the thought that maybe all Daryl meant was friendship. They were good friends, and they'd been through a lot together in the short time they'd known each other. You can love your friends without it meaning anything else...

"Sorry. That was Cordelia. She's over at her mother's place." Daryl came back to his seat by the fire, and near Eric. 

"Look, I didn't mean to turn this into a wake...or a men's forum," Eric added, smiling.

"I meant what I said."

"I should've never jumped on your words that way. There are a lot of different loves in the world. Friendship is one of them."

"It's one of them, yeah," Daryl said, nodding. When Eric looked back at him, he smiled. "It's not the only one."

"You...love me?"

"That was my reaction to it too." Albrecht laughed softly. "You're not exactly my type."

"That way?"

"Huh?"

"You love me...that way?"

"It wouldn't be much of a big deal if it was brotherly love, now would it?"

"No, I s'pose not."

"I'll tell you a secret." Daryl paused. "It's really weird."

"Based on our conversation so far, I wouldn't worry about that."

"Really," Albrecht responded, shaking his head a little. "When I first saw you--not this time around, not during this...lifetime. But before. At the scene?" He paused until Eric nodded, encouraging him to continue. "I pulled the sheet back--you know, routine stuff. I already knew what I was gonna see--at least I knew what had happened thanks to one of the patrolmen on the scene. But when I saw you...I can't explain this very well, but it was like I felt this sense of... _loss_. I've seen a lot of death, Eric. A lot of young people whose lives were snuffed out for no good reason. But this was a personal sense of grief. I had no reason to know you, no reason to care personally that you were dead. But all through this case, I kept feeling like the killers had taken something away from me. Like somehow, someday, I was supposed to meet you. We were supposed to mean something to each other." Daryl rolled his eyes. "That sounded even dumber out loud than it does in my head.

"No it doesn't." Eric sipped at the cooling hot chocolate again. "Now it's my turn to tell you a secret."

"Shoot."

"When I made the choice to stay, it had very little to do with India. I cared very much for her, and I wanted to rescue her, but I didn't love her the way I loved Shelly. I don't think that, given a choice, I'd have had the strength of character to turn my back on Shelly to save India. That makes me feel so guilty, you know?" Eric shifted so he leaned on his elbow against the front of the couch, against which Daryl was leaning his back. "She was there for me, one of the best friends I ever had. And yet, I couldn't have done it for her."

"So why did you do it?"

"Because of what he did to you. Because I thought that nothing on this earth mattered to me without Shelly until you came along. When I found out you were in the hospital, I realized how much...I realized that I...that I loved you. And I couldn't leave."

"You stayed because of me?" 

"Yeah, I did. I could say it was to battle evil or to protect the world from Top Dollar and his depravities." Eric glanced back into the fire. "Shelly meant more to me than all that. See, what's hard for me is that I thought she meant more to me than _everything_. I could have walked away from all of it and never looked back." He turned again to look at Albrecht. "All of it...except for you."

A particularly loud gust and whistle of wind made Daryl start a little. He looked back at Eric then, and smiled self-consciously at his reaction. 

"Do I scare you?" Eric asked then, wondering just why Daryl had jumped at the sound of the howling wind.

"A little sometimes," he answered honestly.

"Why?"

"I don't know what you are, how you could be here...I saw you dead at the scene and again at your funeral. And yet here you are."

"Is that what you think of when you see me? On the few times you've touched me?"

"You don't feel...dead. I expected that when I touched you, I'd feel something...cold, rigid...but you felt as alive as anyone I've ever touched. I don't look at you and see a dead man, Eric."

"What do we do about this?"

"Well, we should change the subject and forget we ever said any of this for both our sakes." 

"Is that what you want?" //God, please, I don't know if I have any rights to pray to you now, but please don't let him say yes...//

"No."

"What do you want?"

"What I don't want is to treat you like a lover one minute and pretend I don't know you the next."

"You ever been with a man before?"

"Once, when I was in college. It wasn't anything more than an experiment. That went pretty damn well." Albrecht laughed then, and Draven joined him, glad for the break in the tension. "You have a beautiful smile, man. I wish you used it more."

"I don't have a lot to smile about usually. This is an exception," he added, still smiling. He watched Daryl's hand move slowly up until the palm rested gently against Draven's cheek. Leaning into the touch, Eric's eyes met and held Daryl's, trying to communicate to him how much it meant. How long it had been since he'd been touched this way. How desperately he wanted more... And then a thought hit him. 

Taking a gentle hold on his friend's hand, Eric moved it away from his face. Smiling, he placed both hands on Daryl's head, much as he had soon after they'd met. That time, he'd been sharing all his pain, his memories of the murder--proof that he was who he said he was. Now, he threw all his powers of concentration into letting the other man _feel_ his love through that touch.

In a moment or two, Albrecht lurched backward, panting a little, staring at Draven with wide eyes.

"My God..." He continued to stare, dumbfounded. "That was for me? We're not talking reminiscences about Shelly or--"

"I wanted you to feel what I'm feeling right now. I'll always love Shelly...I can't change that and I don't want to. But Shelly's...gone. What time I have here, I don't know. I just know how I feel."

"What do you want?"

"I'm not sure." Eric's eyes drifted away a moment. "I haven't done a whole lot with men. The interest has always kind of been under the surface. I guess you're going to have to show me the ropes since you're the one with the experience." He looked back at Albrecht again, and the other man chuckled a little and shook his head.

"We're talking about a jerk-off. That's all I did with that guy, and that was the end of it. We were both drunk."

"So maybe the question is what do _you_ want to do with _me_?"

"Touch you. Beyond that, I don't know."

"Maybe we could just...get close and see what happens."

"Sounds all right," Daryl agreed, nodding.

Eric moved closer, not sure exactly what he should do next. Daryl's arms opened, and suddenly it just happened. He moved into the opened circle and rested his head on the other man's shoulder, smiling as he felt the arms close around him. He locked his own powerful arms around the solid warmth of the other man.

Silence prevailed for a long time, until another wild howl of wind rattled the windows. 

"What are you thinking?" Daryl asked in a soft tone.

"I'm thinking that this is probably the worst mistake I could have made. I didn't know how much loneliness really sucked until now." He closed his eyes and relaxed against Albrecht, relishing the sensation of the hand that rubbed up and down his back in a languid rhythm.

"Meeting you completely complicated my life, you do know that, right? And doing this...man, talk about _complex_." Daryl grinned as he heard a little snort of laughter from Eric. 

"Yeah, well, nobody ever promised life was gonna be easy."

"You seem tired."

"Emotionally, yeah. Physically, I can't seem to run myself down enough. I've tried. Nothing I do matters."

"You want to sleep?"

"I want peace. Just for a few hours."

"The trick is shutting down your mind." Daryl's hand made it up to Eric's hair, stroking it lightly. "You have to make yourself stop thinking, and let your mind go."

"Is that how you fall asleep?"

"It's either that or great sex, and lately, the latter hasn't been much of an option."

"Things not going too well with Cordelia?"

"She's a special lady. I really do love her a lot. It's just that we want different things. I just...I thought she was the one, and now I'm not so sure."

"What would have to change for her to be 'the one'?" The gentle embrace and the motion of Daryl's hand were almost hypnotic. That elusive thing called "peace" seemed so close at hand...

"I don't know." Albrecht was quiet a while. "Maybe that's a lie. Maybe I _do_ know. Maybe because 'the one' came in all the wrong packages. You know, Draven, I wouldn't be one of those people who lived his life sneaking around back alleys and denying anything. If things had been different...if there was some way to... _explain_ you..."

"It's okay. I don't expect that. I wouldn't want to trash your life anyway."

"That day...on the boat? Coming back from the island and dealing with Kessler--you made a swim for it before we had to face the welcoming committee on the shore?"

"Yeah?"

"If I had my way, our lives wouldn't be like that...friends until there's someone else around. And now, doing this, we'd be lovers only when we could get away with it."

"Daryl," Eric made it a point to use the other man's first name. "My whole existence here is borrowed time. I always thought my soul was spoken for. I'm still on borrowed time, but I guess in the final analysis, the one thing no one can take from me is my own soul, my heart, my feelings. My feelings are all I have. This _thing_ that happened to me robbed me of my life. Of all the things I would have experienced. Even 'Seven Circles'...that song meant the most to me because I wrote it for Shelly. But the band had this huge hit with it after I was gone. That should have been _my_ success, man. That was _my life_!" Draven's voice came out in an angry growl. "They pawned my guitar, Shelly's ring, our clothes, everything I owned... Strangers pawed through my life like it was just so much merchandise. My guitar was some kind of fucking morbid shrine for the death metal crowd. If you hadn't kept the loft sealed as a crime scene, I'd have had nothing left. A few photos, some old clothes that weren't worth much, a stuffed animal from a carnival...things looters didn't find appealing."

"All this time, you've been grieving for Shelly. Did you ever allow yourself to grieve for you? For what _you_ lost and what your life meant?"

"I just want it to go away for a little while," he said quietly, his voice breaking. "Do you know how many times that night replays in my head? That feeling of being so helpless and her screams and the pain and the fear. I was so damned scared...for both of us."

"I know. It's okay to let go. You're not alone anymore, Eric." Albrecht tightened his hold on the man shaking in his arms. "Oh, man, you deserved so much better than what you got. Your death was just as great a loss as Shelly's." Daryl sighed, patting the other man's back and then resuming his rubbing motion again. "I can't picture what it would be like to lose your life completely and then try to come back and exist again. It would be like some sick joke version of reincarnation. You have to come back to the same place you were before and live out an undefined lifetime after everything that mattered to you was torn away. You have a right to your own pain."

"But they killed Shelly because of _me_. It was my fault. And I couldn't save her that night. What good are all the moves I've got...the strength I have now? When it mattered...when she screamed out my name for help..." Eric paused, fighting to keep his voice over the tears, "I couldn't do it. I failed her."

"They beat you up and threw you out the window, Draven. You didn't _fail_ anybody."

"Then why is she dead? Why am I some goddamned _zombie_?! What did I do that was so bad..."

"Nothing. It's called being a victim, man. I happens to some of the best people. For no damn reason. Senseless violence is all around us, every day. Children are beaten and molested--they don't _deserve_ that in retaliation for some offense they committed. Innocent women, like Shelly, are raped and murdered all over the world every day. For no other reason than, like her, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time or maybe they trusted the wrong person."

"Like Shelly. She trusted me," Eric replied softly, brokenly.

"If there had been any way possible to save her that night--if they had given you a _choice_ between being thrown out that window to your own death but letting Shelly live and letting you live and killing her, which would you have chosen?"

"You know that answer. I'd have _jumped_ out the fucking window if they would have left her alone!" Eric shouted through his tears. "I would have done anything they wanted...anything at all..."

"No one, including Shelly, could ask more of you than that. There were too many of them, only one of you...you didn't stand a chance."

"They killed her because of me."

"If you'd known someone was after you--"

"I'd have sent her away, even if I had to hurt her to do it--make her think it was over. I would have made her go somehow."

"You weren't given choices, Draven. You were a victim, just like Shelly. And the only people to blame here are Reyes, Top Dollar and the rest of his degenerate bastards who carried out the job."

"I see that night over and over and over again in my mind."

"Maybe it's time to start letting it go."

"If I do that, I let go of Shelly."

"Maybe she let go of you so you could find some peace of mind while you're here--did that ever occur to you?"

"It occurred to me that she left me, because I let her down...again."

"Damn it, Draven! You never let her down the first time. And this time, staying and trying to fight Danko, trying to save India...that was a damn good reason to put off your reunion with her. Shelly loved helping others...she of all people would understand that. But as long as your life is about staring through the window where you died and remembering what has to be the worst kind of agony anybody can feel, you're never going to be happy for even a moment. You'll always be miserable. Is that what Shelly would want for you? To see you suffering?"

"Never," Eric said through a sigh, the tears having given way to a strange feeling of...exhaustion.

"Maybe she's trying to let you live this life you have now, to get what you can from it. Maybe she's trying to set you free from being chained to death 24 hours a day. Part of living is loving and connecting with the people in your life. Maybe she wants you to have love, and not suffer through loneliness day after day. She can't come back across the barrier and live with you on this plane. And maybe she sees that that's what you need most. Someone to be with, someone to help you heal..."

"Someone like you."

"I'm volunteering for the job, yeah," Albrecht said with a little smile, squeezing the languid body in his arms.

"You got it, man." Eric's voice was almost slurred, even to his own ears. He felt the most delicious sense of detachment, complete relaxation, and overpowering fatigue.

* * *

Albrecht looked down at the man in his arms, speechless. Eric Draven was sleeping. At least, he looked like he was sleeping. //Truth is, he looks like he just died...he's motionless,// Albrecht thought to himself. Not wanting to rob Eric of what he had longed for so much, Albrecht gave up on looking him over more closely or trying to discern just what his state was. He'd seen Draven floored before, and he always came back after a fashion.

Figuring this could be a long night, Daryl reached behind him and stuck a sofa pillow behind his head and closed his own eyes. For whatever state Draven was in, he was warm, and now he occasionally shifted a little, like any other normal human who fell asleep. Smiling to himself, Albrecht closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

* * *

The first thing Albrecht saw when he opened his eyes were two large dark eyes watching him. Draven was crouched near the fireplace, as if he might have been stoking the fire, with those soulful eyes riveted to Albrecht.

"What time is it?" Daryl shifted a little stiffly, then noticed the blanket covering him.

"It'll be dawn soon," Eric said, with a note of sadness in his voice, as if the sunrise would be the end of everything. In a way, it would. With daylight would come the need to hide again, the need for Draven to slip away like the shadow he seemed to be at times.

"How long have you been awake?" Albrecht smiled at the little grin and cock of the head from Draven. "Were you sleeping?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I passed out or if I slept...but it felt an awful lot like sleep to me. I was out for a couple hours. It's four thirty." Draven returned to sit on the cushion next to Albrecht's. "Thanks for last night," he said quietly, staring into the fire. The sadness was back, and that was something that tore at Albrecht's heart almost unbearably. 

"Until the sun comes up, it's still 'last night', and we've got some unfinished business." He watched as Eric turned then, and smiled a little.

"We do, huh?"

"Oh yeah. We do." Albrecht tossed the blanket aside and knelt on the cushion facing Draven. As the other man looked up from where he still sat, Albrecht smiled. "Those eyes are going to be my downfall yet," he said affectionately, tucking a loose strand of hair behind the other man's ear. 

"I was kind of hoping this would involve more than just my eyes." Draven moved up to kneel then, his expression still a bit cocky, a bit challenging. //He's daring me to make the first move,// Albrecht acknowledged to himself, laughing softly at Draven's little smile. //Okay. I'll give him a move.//

Catching Draven around the middle and throwing them both back on the cushions, Albrecht started his fingers dancing up and down the other man's sides, slipping beneath the sweatshirt to skim the warm flesh there. And he got what he wanted. For the first time since he'd met him, he heard Eric Draven laugh. Not smile, not grin, not snort derisively at something. This was laughter.

"Damn it, Albrecht, cut it out!" Draven tried to bat the insistent hands away, but he wasn't using any of the arsenal of defense moves he knew to protect himself.

"Don't look now, man, but you're laughing," Daryl teased, renewing his efforts as he laughed along with his captive. 

"I'm gonna get you for this," Draven vowed between laughs and gyrations.

"I'm counting on it." Albrecht pulled his hands back and then rested the palms on the floor on either side of Draven's prone body. In some part of his mind, it occurred to Daryl that his intended lover wasn't even breathing hard. He wondered if he actually breathed _at all_.

"You can't tire me out, Albrecht," Draven said suddenly, as if he'd read the other man's mind. He was still smiling widely though, so apparently Daryl's little hesitation hadn't upset him.

"Really? Well, I could be in trouble then."

"Yeah, you could be. Still want to take the ride?"

"Yeah. More than anything," he responded honestly, finally moving slowly downward until he touched his lips tentatively against Draven's. The response was almost nonexistent at first, and then, without warning, powerful arms closed around Albrecht and pulled him down to lie atop his lover, whose mouth began to respond hungrily, opening to him, kissing back as if he'd never shared a kiss with anyone before. 

"Last chance to turn back," Draven said, his voice hushed.

"I passed on that a long time ago, Eric," Daryl replied softly, smiling as he was pulled in for another kiss. Draven arched, bringing his arousal into contact with Albrecht's, making the other man pull back and gasp a little, then look down at him with something like surprise on his face.

"Just what were you thinking was gonna happen when we did it?" Draven asked, smiling widely enough that his teeth showed. Albrecht smiled back.

"I love seeing you smile."

"You give me a reason to smile." Eric reached up and stroked Albrecht's cheek lightly with his fingertips. "Just getting used to this stuff," he commented, running his fingers over the neatly trimmed beard and mustache. 

"Not too used to your lovers having beards, huh?"

"Generally, no," Eric responded, still smiling softly.

"Does it bother you?"

"Not really. If I can survive bullet holes, I'll probably live through whisker burn."

"You're a real smart ass, you know that?" Albrecht was stunned to find their positions reversed, and Draven lying atop him now, grinning down at him. "How the hell'd you do that?"

"Trade secret," Draven responded, flexing his eyebrows. "Do you always have sex with all your clothes on?" He rose up, still straddling Albrecht's hips and pulled the sweatshirt over his head, tossing it aside. Silky black hair fell on smooth, broad shoulders, the firelight casting its own pattern of shadows and light on the sculpted body of the man who watched Daryl with what was turning into an almost feral hunger. Without breaking eye contact, Draven moved forward and grasped the bottom of Albrecht's sweater, moving back so the other man could sit up and cooperate. It soon flew up in the air and landed on top of the discarded sweatshirt. "Oh, great. Is this like one of those trick boxes you keep opening and finding more boxes inside? How many layers have you got on?"

"It was cold in here."

"You mere mortals and your temperature sensitivity," Draven teased, pulling the turtleneck over Albrecht's head and throwing it away. He just laughed and shook his head when faced with the t-shirt that lay beneath it. Undaunted, he peeled that off too, until the two men were naked from the waist up. 

"Moving right along," Daryl said, smiling and unbuckling Draven's belt. A hand covered his, stopping him.

"That only works in the movies, man. In real life, the shoes have to come off first, remember?"

"I was planning that when I got your pants around your ankles, I could worry about it then. You mind letting me do something here without giving me directions? I _have_ taken someone's pants off before."

"Besides your own?" Draven asked, biting his lip to keep from grinning at Albrecht's annoyed expression. 

"You know, that mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble."

"Really?" Eric inched over until their noses touched as they knelt on the floor. "Guess you better figure out a way to shut me up then."

"Guess I better." The two men kissed again, finally tumbling back on the cushions until they broke apart, Daryl gasping for air. 

"I bet I can hold my breath longer than you can," Draven waggled his eyebrows and Albrecht laughed out loud.

"I bet you can." Daryl kissed Eric's cheek then, lightly, surprising the other man with the tenderness of the gesture. "You don't have to joke about it."

"It's not bothering you?" Eric's eyes moved from Albrecht's face to some point in the middle of his chest. "I don't want it to make you sick."

"Why would it?" Albrecht asked gently, guiding Eric's chin back up so their eyes met. 

"You know what I am. You know I'm not normal. You...exhumed my grave and--" A gentle hand went over Eric's mouth before he could say more.

"Look at me. And listen to me. I don't look at you and see caskets and tombstones and death. I see life. I see the best friend I ever had--someone who was willing to give up his life for me if need be. The person I could sit and share confidences with for hours. The person I'd turn my whole life upside down for if I just knew how to make things work for us."

"I love you," Eric said quietly from under the hand that still rested lightly on his mouth. Daryl moved his hand and was rewarded with a soft smile. He let himself sink into the depths of the eyes that drew him in every time. 

"I love you too."

The two men wrestled passionately with each other, loosening and finally discarding their remaining clothing until they were skin on skin, writhing together in the little oasis of warmth by the fireplace. 

Draven pulled back a bit, then slid down to start kissing his way across the dark expanse of chest beneath him. Albrecht's hands tangled in the younger man's hair, fingers flexing among the strands as the traveling lips found his left nipple and began teasing it, the tongue finally flicking out over it before the hot mouth claimed it in earnest.

"Oh, God...yeah," Daryl groaned, arching into the stimulation. The tortured nipple was released from its hot prison as Draven traveled to its mate, giving it the same treatment. 

Albrecht flipped their positions again, knowing fully that anytime he got an upper hand in this passionate wrestling match, it was granted to him. The power that lurked beneath the quiet, gentle surface of the man beneath him was never far from his thoughts. 

He kissed his way down Draven's neck, relieved to find that the flesh there was warm with their passion. Eric had been granted a second life, and though its term was unknown, it was obvious that he was fully alive in every important sense of the term. 

He found his way down Eric's smooth chest to a nipple that was already taut with arousal. If his mouth hadn't been too busy, he'd have smiled at the surprised little jerk and then groan of pleasure from his lover. Two strong hands came up on either side of his head and pulled him up, Draven locking their mouths together, dragging them into a fiercely passionate kiss as strong arms moved to pull Albrecht in, trapping him against the other man's body. He responded in kind, winding his arms possessively around this lover that was forbidden to him by every rule in the book and yet desired more than any other he'd ever had.

Knowing Draven's capacity to kiss literally unendingly, Albrecht finally broke the kiss, scattering smaller ones over the other man's face, feeling a surge of desire to obliterate somehow the pain and sorrow that always seemed so present there.

Seemingly unable to ignore their aroused state any longer, Eric thrust up against Daryl, dragging the first of many hoarse cries from his throat as they began a rhythm that was torturous in its pleasurable intensity. 

The cry that tore loose from Eric's throat was loud, deep, primal and resounded in the silent house. Daryl felt his own climax building just before it tore through him like lightning, and he called out Eric's name as their seed spilled and mingled between them.

Albrecht groped for the discarded blanket and pulled it over them both, knowing he should worry about the sticky mess they were in, but not really caring. The sun was rising now, and he didn't care about that either. 

Eric was sprawled across him, head on his shoulder, dark silky hair hiding his face, arm draped over Albrecht's chest ending with a hand that curled somewhat possessively over Daryl's other shoulder.

"You still with me?" he asked gently, pulling a few wisps of hair back from the serene face.

"Always will be," Eric responded, finally opening those incomparable eyes and smiling. "It's getting light."

"I know you probably can't sleep, but do you mind resting here with me a while? We mere mortals get a little tuckered out after sex."

"Don't you want me to leave in case--"

"I don't have to be in until noon, and with the power outage, Cordelia's probably going to stick around and help her mom out--she hasn't been very well and her father's on a skiing trip with his brothers right now, so the whole power outage thing will be hard on her."

"Ah." Eric nodded a little. There was a moment or two of silence. "That was pretty amazing."

"Yeah, it went pretty well, didn't it?" Daryl asked in response, smiling.

"Better get some sleep before you go to work."

"You're right. You're not going to take off on me while I'm asleep are you?"

"Not unless you want me to."

"I want you right here." There was a long pause. "If you could stay right here with me always, it would be fine by me."

"Me too. But we'll take what we can get, huh?" Eric pushed himself up on one elbow and smiled down at his lover. 

"Sounds like a lot of stolen moments." Daryl sighed, then smiled a little sadly at Eric. 

"Technically speaking," Eric began in that light-hearted, casual manner that always made Albrecht smile in the worst possible moments, "my whole life is one big stolen moment. So I can deal. Can you?" he asked, his expression turning serious.

"Yeah, I can deal."

"Then we're okay." Draven settled back into position, head back on Albrecht's shoulder.

"This isn't exactly sexy pillow talk, but there's something I've been meaning to ask you. Since the club closed down, what are you going to do about a job?"

"I don't know," Eric responded. "India did some real creative bookkeeping to pay me in cash. It's sort of hard to deal with the IRS when you're dead."

"Oh, I don't know. If you can find a way for them to tax the dead, I'm sure they'd be delighted to work with you." That brought a laugh from Draven.

"They say the only two sure things are death and taxes. Now that I know one of them's iffy, I guess I don't feel much like worrying about the other."

"Landlord been on your back yet?"

"I paid him last month's rent. Good thing I don't eat."

"We'll figure something out. Don't worry about it."

"We, huh?"

"Yeah, _we_. Sounds kind of nice, doesn't it?"

"Real nice. I haven't been part of a 'we' in a long time."

"You're part of one now. Get used to it."

"Shh." Draven moved up on his elbow again. 

"What?"

"I heard something." Draven was sitting up, his whole body on alert. Even then, the warning was too late. The front door opened, and there were footsteps on the stairs. Distinctly _female_ footsteps, high heels echoing on the hardwood floor.

"Shit," Albrecht muttered, just as Cordelia came into view.

"Dar--" The name she had begun to call out died in her throat as she took in the scene in front of her. "What are you doing?" She looked puzzled. 

"There's probably not much point in saying 'this isn't what it looks like', is there?" Daryl asked, defeated. He glanced over to see Draven's reaction, his eyes widening when he saw that he was alone on the floor by the fireplace. 

"Maybe you could tell me what it's supposed to look like?" She crossed her arms and stared at her significant other as he sat amidst scattered pillows and sofa cushions, naked except for a blanket draped over his lap. "Let's take a look at the evidence." She walked over to the area. "I see two cups, I see your black sweats but I also see your jeans, your sweater, your turtleneck--so where is she, huh?" Cordelia shot a look at Daryl that was pure daggers. "I don't believe you." She turned on her heel and strode toward the door.

"Cordelia, wait!" Daryl jumped up and grabbed the black sweatpants, yanking them on even as he tried to hobble after his departing girlfriend. After shoving his feet into some old sneakers, he chased her out to her car in the driveway, barely keeping his balance on the icy pavement.

"Oh, for God's sake, Daryl, go back inside and put on some clothes." She spared him only a brief glance as she made it to her car and unlocked the door.

"Cordie, please, let me explain--"

"Explain what? You obviously found a way to keep yourself entertained last night. This is really special. I spend the night at my mother's house, and in that one night I'm not right around the corner or likely to show up, you pull a stunt like this. I know we're not married yet but I thought we had an understanding."

"We did... I mean we do. Look, can't we go back inside and talk about this?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Daryl. Are you going to stand there and tell me you were alone last night?"

"No," he said softly, the defeat clear in his voice. "But I'd like a chance to explain--"

"You did have sex with another woman, right?"

"No."

"Oh, right. You just fell asleep naked after having a long talk."

"It wasn't a woman."

"Wait a minute. Are you telling me...you were with a _man_?"

"Look, the only reason I'm telling you is that I want you to understand that it wasn't any reflection on you--"

"You're gay," she said, deadpan, the disbelief clear in her voice. "I'm Mother Teresa. Give me some credit here, Daryl. We've been sleeping together close to a year, and now you're going to tell me you're gay."

"I didn't say that. I said I was with a man last night."

"Okay, and the difference between those two conclusions is...??"

"If we could go inside, talk--"

"No thanks. I've heard all I need to. I'll pick up the rest of my things while you're at work and leave my keys on the kitchen table." She got into the car but Daryl grabbed the edge of the door before she could close it.

"Cordelia, please, don't leave like this. Let me explain. I love you--"

"Maybe you do, but all along you've been unwilling to make any kind of commitment to me, and now I know why. I won't live out the rest of my life being your cover story so you can have your male lovers without the PD finding out. Now please let go of the door."

"That isn't how it is, baby. Please listen to me."

"Don't 'baby' me. Go cry on your boyfriend's shoulder and let me get on with my life." She yanked the door shut and started up the engine, speeding backwards out of the driveway and leaving in a squeal of tires. Daryl sighed, watching the car disappear down the street, catching the inquisitive glance from his neighbor across the street as she picked up her morning paper from the porch. Shaking his head, he walked back up the front steps and into the house. 

Entering the living room, he was surprised to see Draven sitting on the edge of a chair, clad in the black clothes he arrived in the night before.

"Where'd you go, man?" Daryl asked, picking up the sweat shirt and putting it on before moving closer to Draven.

"Sorry about the cups and clothes. I can make myself scarce occasionally, but I haven't figured out how to take a bunch of other stuff with me yet."

"Oh, man." Daryl dropped into the couch, leaning his head back. "This is a disaster."

"Could've been worse--she could have seen who you were with."

"I told her it was a man."

"Why?"

"I thought maybe if she thought I wasn't with another woman...I don't know. She asked me point blank if I'd had sex with another woman last night, and I don't ever lie to her. I just told the truth before I knew what I was doing."

"I'm really sorry about this. I knew it was a mistake coming over here last night. I have no right to show up in your world and screw things up this way." Draven was up and pacing now, his words hitting Albrecht like a ton of bricks, making it hard to gather his thoughts.

"It wasn't a mistake." Albrecht stood and moved over to intercept the pacing man with his hands on Draven's shoulders. "It isn't your fault that Cordelia found out. You offered to leave several times. I wanted you to stay, and I didn't think she'd come here this morning."

"Shelly's dead...gone. On the other side. Cordelia isn't. Just because I'm alone isn't a reason for me to ruin your chances with the woman you love."

"I love Cordelia, that's true." Albrecht caught Draven's face in his hands gently. "But I love you too. Right now, that feeling is running deeper than any of the others. I don't know why. I can't explain it."

"I feel the same way," Eric said quietly, smiling softly, bringing his hands up to hold onto Daryl's wrists. "Last night was a fantasy. I just don't see how it could work in reality." 

"We'll figure something out. We have to," Daryl said solemnly, pulling the other man into his arms. "I'm not letting you go."

"I'm not going anywhere. As long as I have control over it." Eric held on tightly, as if by doing so he could keep himself grounded and alive on the earthly side of the barrier. He finally moved back, smiling slightly. "I _am_ sorry about what happened this morning though."

"Yeah, well, thanks for trying to make a fast getaway. At least she won't start looking too hard into your life and activities. I think you could have looked forward to some scrutiny if she thought it was you."

"Oh, you mean 'The Wacko Who Claims to be Draven'?" Eric snickered a little. "Hey, if Prince can be 'The Artist Formerly Known as Prince', maybe this title'll work for me." Albrecht smirked despite his best efforts not to let Eric's humor lift his spirits. "Why don't you go buy your lady some flowers and do some groveling. It might work."

"On Cordelia? Not likely." Albrecht frowned. "Why do you want me to try so hard to get back with her?"

"You love her, right?" Draven sat against the back of the couch and then looked up at Albrecht, a couple stray wisps of hair hanging in his eyes. "You know this can't work--it can't be more than...something on the side. We can exactly start going steady here."

"I know this is a challenge. I thought we agreed we were up to it."

"Up to the lovemaking and the feelings...sure, I'm up for that. But I guess in the cold reality of dawn..." Draven shrugged. "I know I don't have a right to anything like this. Not here, not on this plane."

"Yeah, well, you had a right to not be brutally murdered, too, and no one respected that one. Why don't you have a right to find love in this lifetime?"

"I don't know. I was sent here to set things right. Maybe I'm just afraid of my coach turning into a pumpkin at midnight, so to speak."

"You think some cosmic power is going to haul you back across the divide if you fall in love on this side of it?"

"Maybe. I don't _know_ any of the answers here!" Draven was up and pacing again.

"Love was ripped away from you the last time around. Maybe finding it again is part of setting things right. Did that ever occur to you?"

"You sure you're not the lawyer instead of Cordelia? You're awfully damned good at arguing a point." 

"I just don't see why you're so set against this all of a sudden. What happened with Cordelia was bound to happen. Maybe not this way, but we haven't been perfect with each other for a long time. Maybe never. There was going to come a break. It was a matter of how and when. And yes, when I have time to think about it, it's gonna hurt like hell. But changes do. You of all people know that."

"I should probably go. You have to get some rest before work-"

"Yeah, sure. I'm going to sleep between now and noon." Albrecht sighed with a slight degree of exasperation. "I thought something special happened here last night. And all you're doing this morning is shooting it down."

"I can't take it again."

"Take what?"

"Losing someone. I can't love someone like that and then...live through it being taken away. Not ever again." Draven's head was bent, his hair curtaining his face from Albrecht's view. 

"You're scared," he said quietly. There was a tight nod. "That's understandable, man. But if you live your life that way, you lose the chance to ever feel anything again. To love again." Albrecht moved closer to the dejected-looking soul still leaning against the back of the couch. "Look at me, Eric." He waited what seemed an eternity until the other man followed the soft command. "I'm healthy, I'm alive, I'm here...and when I say I love you, it's the truth. I'm not going to leave you." He held Draven's gaze a for long seconds before Eric turned away again. 

"What if I have to leave you?"

"You were able to choose to stay here. I think that's significant."

"But I may not always have a choice."

"None of us do, man. I don't have a choice when I'm going to the other side. Neither does Cordelia, or Sarah, or Darla, or Mrs. Hooper across the street or you. Nobody gets to pick that out. If we give up love because we might get called to the other side, nobody'd ever love anybody. We _all_ get called over there eventually. I could get it tomorrow or when I'm ninety. You could get it tomorrow or 100 years from now."

"In one night, I screwed up your whole life. Not only is Cordelia history, but she knows you were with a man last night."

"Cordelia knows what I told her. That wasn't your fault. As for it ruining my life--she's not a vindictive person. I don't think she'll make it a point to harass me or expose my sexual orientation or choices at the PD. You pulled your Houdini routine when she was coming in, remember?"

"For all the good it did." Eric pushed himself away from the couch and headed for the door.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"I need to think."

"Hey."

"What?" Draven turned around, and watched Albrecht as he crossed the room until the two men were standing almost nose to nose. 

"I'll probably get off work about ten or so tonight. You planning on being home?"

"I hadn't thought that far ahead. I can be."

"Maybe we can get together then."

"Okay. You want to come to my place?"

"If that's all right."

"Sure." Eric nodded. Daryl leaned forward and caught his lips by surprise, winding his arms around Draven's unresisting body. They kissed long and deep, until Albrecht pulled back, reaching up with both hands to smooth the fly-away hair out of Eric's face and letting a hand rest on each cheek. 

"Don't be afraid of what you're feeling. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know. We'll talk tonight, huh?" Eric forced a little smile and moved away, heading for the door. When he was at the foot of the stairs, his hand on the doorknob, he turned to look back up at Daryl. "I love you, Albrecht. Remember that."

"Ditto, Draven. You remember that too." Albrecht smiled as Draven nodded and then walked through the door, pulling it shut behind him.

Continued in part four.


	4. Chapter 4

Due to the size of this story, it's been split into 5 parts.

## The Eighth Circle

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Continued from part three. 

* * *

**THE EIGHTH CIRCLE** \- part four  
by Candy Apple 

"Now I know what going home for lunch really means," Blair said, grinning up at Jim. As he lay on his back in the bed, Jim straddled him, their fingers laced together as the larger man lovingly held Blair's arms back over his head against the mattress. With free access to Blair's body, Jim was nibbling his way down soft skin of Blair's throat.

"Beats the hell out of WonderBurger," Jim quipped, nipping at Blair's collarbone. 

"Think Simon'll mind if we're a little late getting back?" Blair asked, wrapping strong legs around Jim's hips.

"Is this your way of telling me to get on with it, baby?" Jim pulled back to look Blair in the eyes, smiling affectionately. Blair nodded. "Sorry, sweetheart. We're taking it slow and easy this time."

Jim wound his arms tightly around Blair, continuing the trail of kisses and licks down Blair's throat, over his shoulders, and finally moving down to take a taut nipple into his mouth. The man beneath him groaned and arched into the stimulation, which prompted Jim to move from the first nipple to the second, repeating the process there. 

With his hands freed up now, Blair slid his fingers into Jim's hair and tried to keep him centered over the tight bud of flesh that was being tormented into hardness. In spite of Blair's best efforts, Jim moved away from the spot and moved up to kiss Blair's mouth thoroughly. 

"I love you," he breathed against Blair's lips, then kissed him again.

"Love you too," Blair sighed, smiling up at his lover. 

Jim slid back down in the bed until he was in the right position to continue kissing and licking at the soft skin of Blair's stomach, loving the little spasms of arousal combined with laughter that just the right flick of the tongue could bring. The large erection was poking against Jim's chin as he nibbled at the area around Blair's navel.

"You ready for me, baby?" Jim asked teasingly. 

"Oh, man, _so_ ready," Blair panted, drawing up his knees.

"Shh. Not so fast," Jim admonished, ignoring the offered opening to Blair's body and instead, taking the straining erection into his mouth. Blair cried out then, his legs resting on Jim's shoulders. 

"Jim...oh, yeah...like that..." Blair muttered somewhat incoherently. Jim just smiled around his mouthful and kept working, swirling his tongue around the firm flesh in all the ways he knew drove Blair crazy. When he saw that the younger man had thrown his arms back over his head against the bed, his head was back, exposing the long, passion-marked throat, and he moaned incoherently and continuously, he released the hard, wet organ from his mouth. Blair whimpered with need and finally rallied to open his eyes.

"Want you to come while I'm inside you, baby," Jim said softly, reaching under Blair's thighs to push the sturdy legs back again, exposing Blair's center. 

"Oh, yeah," Blair groaned in agreement, helpfully finding the lube where it had been discarded on the bed and handing it to Jim. 

"Love watching my fingers moving in and out of you...getting you ready for me," Jim whispered. "When you push down like that, I know you want it. I know it's time."

"Please," Blair groaned, bearing down on Jim's fingers again.

"Please what, angel? This?" Jim found Blair's prostate and rubbed one insistent finger firmly over it. Blair let out a scream and his entire body stiffened. 

"Want...your cock...doing that..." Blair gasped.

"You and me both, sweetheart." Jim withdrew his fingers and coated himself with the lube. He slid carefully into Blair's passage until he was fully sheathed. "Love you, baby," Jim sighed, starting to move slowly, tuning all his senses into Blair's heartbeat and respiration, monitoring his responses to be sure he was comfortable and ready to enjoy himself.

"Harder," Blair pleaded, thrusting up to meet Jim's strokes. Obliging happily, Jim angled his movements to nail Blair's prostate over and over, and before long, he had his lover emitting one long, low, primal groan of pleasure that never really ended, but just changed pitch and volume depending on the force of the stroke.

"So good...God, Chief...so perfect..." Jim grunted, wanting to say something more to Blair but not having the power over his speech or his thought processes at the moment.

"Closer," Blair managed, shifting his legs to wrap around Jim's body as the larger man lowered himself, understanding the command and taking Blair in his arms until they were completely and literally wrapped up in each other. "Love you...inside me," he muttered into Jim's ear. 

"My life," Jim whispered back, and from the tightening of Blair's grip, his foggy brain knew it had been understood as an endearment. Blair was his life, his heart and his soul, and never did he feel that as acutely as he did when they made love, and were physically one. They were one in so many other ways.

Blair let out a couple of strained little groans, and Jim felt the beginnings of the spasms of his lover's climax. The intensified stimulation of his heated cock brought Jim to the edge, and they came together with a symphony of groans and cries of each other's names.

Jim carefully eased his softened organ out of his lover, then gathered him close again, turning them on their sides, still facing each other. 

"Wish we didn't have to go back in today," Blair said, just before his mouth was captured and put to better use. When Jim pulled back, he smiled softly at his lover.

"Just a good incentive for us to get everything wrapped up so we can come home."

"Yeah, I wouldn't wanna miss meeting with Bradley Morgan this afternoon."

"We knew we were going to deal with a lot of shit arresting his kid. People like them...they think they're above the law. And what was Sheila Foster anyway--just a waitress in a bar."

"Yeah, people like that measure the value of a life in dollars and cents."

"And social clout. Snot-nosed little shit never expected the murder of a bar maid to be sufficient reason for the cops to take on Daddy and his lawyers."

"He could still get off."

"Not as long as we've got that bloody washcloth you found behind his washing machine. That was a hell of a piece of police work, Chief." Jim looked down into Blair's eyes. "I can't even tell you how proud of you I am for that."

"I just looked behind a washer, Jim. It was dumb luck."

"No one else, including me, had looked behind it."

"You would have. You'd have smelled it if it hadn't been for all the cigarette smoke." Blair referred to the fact that the suspect, Charles Morgan, was a heavy smoker, and was present and smoking when the police searched the house.

"Either way, the point is, you found it, and it's the key to this whole case."

"It's almost one."

"Yeah. We better go grab a shower or we're never going to get back there by two."

"We were supposed to be back by one-fifteen."

"Truck stalled?" Jim offered, sitting up.

"We almost flooded the engine trying to get it started..."

"So we had to just sit it out a few minutes, and then tried it again..."

"And it took off. You really should get that old truck replaced, or at least serviced," Blair teased, following Jim downstairs to the bathroom, where they both looked forward to one more diversion before getting back to work.

* * *

The first thing Jim spotted when they walked into the bullpen was Simon, pacing back and forth in his office, dragging on a cigar, chewing someone out on the phone. He slammed down the receiver and his eyes fixed on his somewhat delinquent detective. Blair slid into the chair he occupied behind Jim's desk and started shuffling papers to get started typing up a report.

"Ellison! Sandburg! My office!" Banks bellowed through the door. 

"Isn't he overreacting a little for a long lunch hour?" Blair opined, standing to follow Jim to the office.

"I think there's a little more to it, Chief," Jim responded, leading the way into Simon's office.

"Shut the door," Banks barked at Sandburg, who did so immediately. "We've got a major problem here. There's evidence missing from the Morgan case."

"You're not going to tell us it was the bloody rag?" Jim asked with a disbelieving little smile on his face.

"Gone without a trace. I've questioned Friedman--he's been there since eight this morning. I'm satisfied it was gone when he got here. Saunders was on last night. He's on his way in right now, though I have to say I don't picture either of those guys stealing evidence in a major case."

"Maybe if someone paid them enough to turn their heads--"

"Anything's possible, Sandburg. But Saunders has been on the force for 30 years--he could retire any day now--and I went to the academy with Friedman. I know this guy. He's not a dirty cop. But IA's all over it anyway."

"Someone had to be involved here, Simon. Evidence doesn't just walk away, and civilians don't just stroll into evidence lock-up and pick out what they want."

"Did they leave the area unsupervised at all?" Blair asked.

"Friedman claims he never did--said Lucas from Vice covered for him for a few minutes while he took a break."

"That's a little unusual, isn't it?" Jim queried. "Detectives don't often run the evidence room."

"Friedman said he needed to use the john--he knows Lucas, so he asked him to watch the place for a few minutes. Friedman said he wasn't gone more than ten minutes."

"When's the last time anyone saw the rag?" Blair asked.

"Two days ago, as near as we can tell," Simon sighed. "Once it's bagged, tagged, logged in and put on a shelf, we don't have much reason to go back and look at it."

"Without that rag--" Jim began, and Simon finished the statement.

"We don't have a case. Well, except for Sandburg's testimony that the rag in fact exists, and he found it behind Morgan's washing machine. It's not as good as having it, but it's a thin thread we might be able to go with. The witness you interviewed over in Port Columbia-- what was her name again?"

"Susan Perry," Blair supplied.

"But that's inconclusive anyway."

"I don't want this case hinging on Blair," Jim objected.

"Unfortunately, that's not a matter of choice anymore. It _does_ hinge on Blair."

"Would you guys stop talking about me like I'm not here? Look, Morgan's in jail, all I have to do is say that I found the rag-- no big deal."

"There's no question that not having the physical evidence is a major body blow to the case. I don't know as just having a bunch of people say they saw it is going to convince a jury. Not after the public has been barraged with incidents like the O.J. Simpson thing where all they talked about was where that damned glove came from." Simon leaned back in his chair. "The infamous bloody rag can easily be called a fabrication by the defense--a cover up by the PD because it's only been PD personnel who have seen the damn thing."

"Maybe Forensics could find traces of blood behind the washer that they missed the first time around," Blair suggested. 

"I sent a team back out there from the lab. I'm not optimistic. He wrapped it in another towel--remember? We couldn't find anything the first time. Well, we found a few traces of her blood near the front of the washer, but he claimed she sometimes did his laundry, and that she cut herself one day. Honestly, we have nothing to dispute that."

"I guess we have to find out who stole that rag then," Jim concluded.

"Yeah, probably starting with Morgan's old man," Blair opined.

"We don't have many witnesses in this case. Jim, you're familiar with the Port Columbia PD, right?"

"We're acquainted with one of the detectives there, yeah."

"I'd like to get some protection for Susan Perry. She's our only other viable witness besides Sandburg. I doubt they'll be able to spare the manpower willingly, so if you can talk with someone you know there, it might get us a little more cooperation."

"She didn't really know all that much, sir. You really think Morgan would risk it? When Blair and I talked to her, the most she could do was place a car that might _look like_ Morgan's near the scene."

"I'd rather not take any chances. Sandburg--watch your back, and make sure you're in touch with someone about your comings and goings, at least until we get this mess straightened out."

"I'll keep an eye on him, sir," Jim spoke up, smiling a little devilishly at Blair. What Simon made of that expression, Blair wasn't sure, but it was the first time Jim had flirted with him in front of the captain. It left the younger man a bit stunned. They were quite firmly esconced in their closet. But now, this combination of Jim's knowing smile and the lingering sensations of their "lunch hour" conspired to make Blair shift in his chair.

"That's it for now. Get a hold of Port Columbia and see what you can do."

"Will do, Simon." Jim rose and led the way to the door.

"Oh--Jim--any word on that hit and run incident yet?"

"None. I have to call the PCPD anyway and track down Albrecht--he's the detective we know there--to find out if there's been any progress."

"Not even a line on the mysterious hero who saved the day, huh?" Simon persisted. Jim shot a look at Blair, but said nothing.

"Not so far," Blair spoke up. //I'll have to tell Eric he's a "mysterious hero". He'll get a laugh out of that one.//

* * *

Draven had heard Albrecht's footsteps in the hall long before the knock at the door. He swung it open and the other man stood there a bit uneasily. He'd been to Draven's place dozens of times before, but never once as the man's lover.

"You want to come in?" Draven asked with a small smile.

"Yeah." Albrecht walked into the apartment and Draven shut the door behind him. //So what do I do now?// Draven pondered. //Kiss him hello?// 

"I'd offer you something, but I don't have anything," Eric said honestly, shrugging a little.

"We're not staying. Grab your coat."

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing, I have to go check on Susan Perry, the witness in the case Ellison's working on. We've got a unit watching her house, but I promised Ellison I'd check on her personally."

"Why?"

"Their key piece of physical evidence was stolen right out of the evidence room at the Cascade PD. So two things are obvious from that. First, whoever's behind Morgan--probably his old man--is willing to risk everything to kill this case, and second, all they have left are their witnesses--Susan Perry, who can place the kid's car at the scene of the murder, and Sandburg, who found the missing evidence in the first place."

"Let's go," Draven responded, grabbing his black coat and following Albrecht out the door. 

The quiet suburban street where Susan Perry lived was deserted except for a couple of cars parked in front of homes. There was no police car in sight. 

"I don't like this," Albrecht commented, cruising slowly past the darkened Perry house. "Where's the damn unit?" He picked up the mic and put the call out to them. "Adam 14, this is Albrecht. Give me your location." He waited. "Adam 14, please respond with your location immediately." Again, nothingness. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, then placed a call to central dispatch. "This is Albrecht. I'm approaching the house of Susan Perry, a witness who is supposed to be under protection, at 923 Barnes. The assigned unit is not visible. Requesting back-up from all units in the vicinity. No noise, folks. Let's keep this one quiet."

A few units responded that they were on their way, and Albrecht pulled into the driveway. 

"What about the back up?" Draven asked as they got out of the car. 

"They're on their way. I'm going in." He headed up the sidewalk toward the front porch of the small, red-brick ranch.

"Let me go first." Draven moved up so he was walking a little ahead of Albrecht.

"Excuse me?" Albrecht grabbed the other man's arm. "Last time I looked, I was the one with the badge here."

"Last time I looked, I was the one who could take a bullet and walk away." Draven stared intently into the other man's eyes. "It's your show. Just let me walk in first...in case." 

"All right," Albrecht conceded, seeing the obvious concern in Draven's eyes. Concern...and love. It was there, and he acknowledged to himself that he shouldn't have made love with the man if he didn't want his protectiveness. Draven had always been protective of Albrecht, just as the reverse had been true. Becoming lovers could only intensify those feelings.

Draven turned the knob and the front door opened easily. Both men exchanged a glance that conveyed their shared opinion that this was not a good sign. Once they were inside, and nothing had leapt out at them from the shadows, Albrecht flipped on a light switch. The living room was ransacked, noticeable gaping holes where the woman's electronic equipment had been. TV, stereo, VCR...everything cleaned out.

"Cute. Make it look like a garden variety B &E," Albrecht opined, moving through the living room to the hallway. "Ms. Perry? Port Columbia Police!" he called out an obligatory salutation to a woman he felt sure would never answer. He was startled to hear a groan come from the master bedroom.

Both men hurried into the room and turned on the light, finding the young woman lying on the floor, badly beaten and semi-conscious. Without being asked, Draven knelt next to her and took a hold of her hand, closing his eyes and grimacing at the visions that assailed his mind. Albrecht's voice as he called an ambulance was a fuzzy, distant sound as Draven re-lived the victim's assault in shocking detail.

"There were three of them--all big, musclebound types. One had a tattoo on his left forearm... Oh...no..." Draven's eyes snapped open and locked with Albrecht's as the other man squatted near the victim.

"What is it?"

"Blair...Dear God...they have Blair," he said, the worry clear in his eyes. "It's not good, Albrecht. I have to do something." He was up in a bound and fleeing for the door.

"Draven!" Albrecht called after him. The sounds of other cars arriving stopped Albrecht from pursuing his elusive lover at that moment. Draven would have to make himself scarce anyway as soon as back-up arrived. //Now if I can just track him down later...// 

Albrecht sighed and tried to give some comfort to the semi-conscious woman on the floor.

* * *

Draven pulled his motorcycle up alongside the green Volvo, parked behind the building that housed Blair's and Jim's apartment. He rushed up the stairs two and a time and banged on the door of the loft.

"Blair!! Come on, man, open the door!" He grabbed the knob to turn it, and pressed his forehead against the wood of the door as images sliced through his brain. Blair reading, looking up, unable to get his mouth open to protest before his assailants were upon him. A hand pressed a handkerchief over his nose and mouth and as the resistance left his body, he was hauled out of the apartment, via the fire escape exit through his old bedroom. "Damn," Draven breathed against the door before pushing himself away from it and heading back downstairs to his bike.

* * *

Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose, the gesture reflecting the fatigue of a long and fruitless day. The bullpen was nearly empty except for Simon, who was still hunched over his desk, and a couple of detectives getting ready to go out on a stakeout. He was about to pick up the phone to call Blair, just to be sure the younger man was still safely tucked in the loft. They had two of their best cops watching the apartment, so he knew the worry was pointless. Still, something had nagged at him for the better part of an hour, so he reached for the phone.

"Ellison." The single word made Jim look up, startled to see the black clad figure of Eric Draven standing a few feet away from his desk. 

"What do you want?" Jim asked, his voice hostile. Their last encounter hadn't been pleasant.

"It's Blair. They have him."

"What are you talking about?"

"The same men who beat Susan Perry nearly to death tonight have Blair."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down a minute. Explain." Jim stood and faced his visitor.

"Susan Perry was badly beaten in her home tonight. I don't know what happened to the cops that were guarding her but Albrecht and I found her on the floor in her bedroom. The men who did that have kidnapped Blair."

"How do you know that?"

"He's not at the loft."

"Shit." Jim picked up the phone and punched out the number. As it rang, he looked back at Draven. "That doesn't mean he's been abducted--and how in the hell do you know that one has anything to do with the... _dammit_!" Jim slammed the receiver down. "Fucking answering machine." He grabbed his leather jacket off the nearby hook and started toward Simon's office when Draven grabbed his arm.

"Ellison--this isn't a game. I know you don't buy anything I tell you, but I can see things...I _know_ he's been kidnapped. I _saw_ it when I went to the door."

"You saw something? Why the hell didn't you say that?"

"I didn't see it with my eyes. I saw it in my mind."

"So now you're a psychic."

"I can give you descriptions. If you won't believe me, call Albrecht. He'll vouch for me." Draven paused as the two men stared at each other a moment, seemingly at an impasse. "I'm going to find Blair. I just thought it would be easier if we worked together."

"You're not meddling in this situation anymore than you already have. If any part of what you're saying is true, Blair's life is at stake here."

"He trusts me. Blair knows I'm telling the truth. If you can't believe in me, can't you trust Blair to know the truth? He's been to the other side, Ellison. He _knows_."

"Blair considered Eric Draven one of his best friends. Draven's death was very difficult for him to get through. He wants to believe. Damn you to hell for playing on that."

"Blair means a lot to me. I'd never hurt him. I just want to help save his life. That's all. What do I have to gain from this anyway?"

"I don't know, but for all I know, you're part of the reason why he disappeared."

"Fine. You do things your way and I'll do things my way. It's only Blair's life on the line." Draven turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

"Hold it right there." Jim's command caught the attention of the other two detectives in the room and Simon, who had just stepped out of his office. Draven simply shook his head and turned around to face Ellison.

"What're you gonna do, shoot me? Take your best shot, man." He turned and walked briskly out of the room and down the hall.

"Blair's not answering the phone. I'm going home," Jim said to Simon. 

"Who was that?"

"Some maniac who claims to be Eric Draven--that friend of Blair's who was murdered in Port Columbia last year." Jim was steadily moving toward the door, and Simon, who had donned his coat in the hopes of going home, fell into step with him. "He claims that Blair's been abducted by the same people who assaulted Susan Perry tonight. I have to get a hold of Albrecht." Ellison was dialing the number on his cell phone as the two men rode down in the elevator to the garage. After a momentary wait, the switchboard at the PCPD connected Jim with Albrecht.

"Albrecht."

"Jim Ellison. What's the story on this headcase that's running around claiming to be Draven?" There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"Whatever he's told you, Jim, listen to him. I can't explain everything he's about, but he's on the level about this."

"Susan Perry--was she attacked tonight?"

"Yes. I was just going to call you. She's in fair condition at St. Joseph's Hospital. She hasn't been able to give me anything yet... but Draven gave me a description of the assailants."

"You believe this guy? Trust him?"

"Shortly after I met him, I opened Draven's grave. It was empty."

"It's a little harder to pull off nowadays, but people can still snatch bodies," Jim retorted, following Simon's lead to the captain's car. 

"That's true. But I ran prints on the guy claiming to be Draven, and they matched. I can't explain this either, but I trust him."

"He took off on his own. Claimed Sandburg had been kidnapped by the people who attacked Susan Perry."

"I know. He told me."

"I need those descriptions," Jim got into Simon's car and jotted a choppy set of notes as Albrecht talked as Simon gunned the engine, hit the lights and siren and sped out of the garage, radioing the unit that was supposed to be watching the loft. As Jim broke the connection on his call with Albrecht, he heard the other officers explaining to Simon that they had gotten an "officer down" call, and after calling Sandburg and verifying that he was all right and warning him to be on the alert since they would be gone a while, they'd responded.

"The call was a fake?" Simon questioned.

"Yes, sir. We arrived at the scene, but we were the only unit there, and nothing appeared out of order. We searched the area...nothing. We're just on our way back now."

"Get back over to 852 Prospect and wait for us there." Simon concluded the call.

"That's it? They were supposed to stay with Sandburg!" Jim protested.

"Jim, you know that an 'officer down' call takes precedence over everything else. You also know that Blair wouldn't have had it any other way than for them to respond to it." 

"Can't this bucket move any faster?!" Jim demanded.

"Not and get us there alive. Now just get a hold of yourself, man!" Simon barked, then more softly, "I'm worried about him too."

"This is my own fault. I shouldn't have let him leave the station tonight."

"Maybe he went out. This wouldn't be the first time he's slipped away from protective custody."

"Albrecht says this Draven character is on the up and up."

"Right," Simon responded, laughing. "I saw a jumper once after he'd made a 20-storey swan dive onto the sidewalk. Not pretty. Trust me--after 16 floors, Draven isn't up walking around."

"You don't have to tell me how damned ridiculous it sounds. It just puzzles me a little that Albrecht believes it."

"Must be our year for angels around here," Simon snorted an ugly little laugh, shaking his head. The veiled reference to Gabe stopped Jim cold. There had been no explanation for Gabe's appearance either, or for his ID matching a dead man's...and yet, he'd been very real, very present, and had managed to touch both their lives. And then he'd inexplicably disappeared from the hospital where he'd been taken following his shooting.

The car slamming to a halt in front of 852 Prospect jerked Jim back to reality.

Guns drawn, Jim and Simon led the way upstairs, the two young detectives who'd been guarding Blair earlier, bringing up the rear. The four cops burst into the apartment, guns aiming in all directions. Jim's heart sank when his last hope of finding Blair asleep on the couch and oblivious to all the worry was dashed against the rocks. His lover was a heavy sleeper, and he'd hoped maybe, just maybe, Blair had slept through the ringing of the phone, that the man claiming to be Draven was truly a crazy crank and not the real thing... 

His eyes snapped to Blair's old room, his weapon aimed at the French doors as Draven walked casually out into the room, facing the four guns as if they were water pistols.

"Ellison. I have to talk to you." 

"This is the guy you were telling me about?" Simon asked Jim.

"That's him."

"You want to talk to him or just haul him downtown and toss his ass in a holding cell?"

"I'll talk to him." Jim holstered his weapon, and the others followed suit. 

"Okay, gentlemen, let's have a look around." Simon paused, looking at one of the two young detectives. "What, you don't have gloves, Delaney?" The other man sheepishly pulled out a wadded up pair of latex gloves from his pocket and pulled them on as his partner already had. 

"What are you doing here?" Ellison challenged, ushering Draven back into the small bedroom.

"I was looking for something that would tell me where Blair is. Possibly lead me to his kidnappers."

"I spoke to Albrecht. Either you're for real, or you've just managed to sell him your act. I'm not sure which I believe yet."

"You know what I am, Ellison. You can tell. You've seen proof. Just like Albrecht has seen proof."

"Did you find anything?" Jim asked, desperate at this point for any clue to Blair's whereabouts and not particularly caring where it came from.

"Not relating to the kidnappers." 

"Meaning?"

"When Blair tells you he doesn't mind being in the closet?"

"Yeah?"

"He's lying."

"What does that have to do with anything? It's none of your goddamned business anyway."

"Probably not. But there is a lot of pain in Blair about that. I can feel it strongly in this room. This... _pretend_ bedroom."

"This isn't the time for an encounter group. Do you have any ideas on where to find him or not?"

"The men who took him--there were three of them. All tall, muscular--hired muscle types--"

"I got the description from Albrecht," Jim interrupted. Eric just nodded in response. 

"They chloroformed him to get him out of here quietly, and they left by that exit," he inclined his head toward the fire escape. "Your people won't find prints. They all wore gloves."

"Is he all right?" Jim asked, hating himself for giving in to Draven's game, whatever it was.

"I don't know. He was when they took him out of here."

"So what can you do to help us now?"

"I don't know that either," Draven said honestly, pacing over to the shelf where Blair kept his photos, and smiling at the one he found of the two of them there. "He kept this." The photo was taken by Shelly, the night they'd gone to the Blackout Club. Eric and Blair were toasting beer mugs, both wearing big smiles.

"If you're such a hot shot psychic, how about telling me where he is now?"

"I wish I could." Draven paused. "I'm just asking to be allowed to be in on this investigation."

"You ride with me and you do as you're told, or the deal's off."

"I'll ride with you and I'll do all I can to save Blair's life. That's my deal. Take it or leave it. Either way, I'm going to look for him."

"All right." Jim turned and walked out of the room, with Draven on his heels. 

* * *

"Okay, you mouthy little shit," the burly man growled, grabbing a handful of Blair's hair and pulling his head back. Blair could feel the blood that was seeping out of his nose change directions and nearly choke him as it ran down his throat now instead. "You ready to write that note to your roomie now?" Blair looked into the bearded face, and into the icy blue eyes. There was no mercy to be found there. He knew he faced another beating if he resisted, but if he wrote the note, he also knew his life would become worthless.

"Go to hell," he sputtered at his captor. Once they had a note in hand, in his handwriting, declaring that he'd planted the evidence, and that he was so ashamed of having done that, that he was now leaving Cascade, they would kill him. He'd already tried signing his name as "Sandy" to the note to give Jim a clue, but that had earned him the worst of the blows. These men had done their homework. They knew that wasn't a valid nickname in a note to Jim, and had made it a point to punish their captive for trying to be clever.

"Maybe you didn't hear me the first time." Blair's hair was pulled viciously, yanking his head back until he thought his neck would snap. "Now, you have one more chance to write the fucking note the way I told you to, or I'm going to pay your buddy, Ellison, a little visit. Hey, Hal, show our little friend here my new toy." The man named Hal hauled his six-foot-six bulk out of the festered easy chair he occupied in the graffiti-laden deserted apartment where they held Blair and pulled a large gun from its hiding place inside a blanket roll. It was a high-powered rifle with a sight on top.

"What's that for?" Blair managed.

"It's just to illustrate your options. You can cooperate, write what you've been told to write without any more tricks, and we won't bother your friend, Ellison. Or, you can be a stubborn little prick, and I'll take that rifle, find your buddy, and blow his brains all over the sidewalk when he least expects it. It's your call."

"If I do as you say, I don't have any guarantees you won't kill him anyway."

"Well, now that's true. But if you don't, you have a guarantee that I _will_. I don't kill for recreation. I kill for money, or to get a job done. If you play your part, I wouldn't have a worthwhile reason to want Ellison dead."

"He'll hunt you the longest day of your life if you kill me, you know that, right?"

"Then that'll be his final mistake. Now, are you going to write the letter like a good boy or are we going to go find Ellison?"

Blair stared into the icy, unyielding eyes of the man who still had his hair in a vise-like grip. The thought that Jim would never again have his hands gently woven into that same hair in the throes of passion brought the burning of tears to Blair's blackened eyes. His love for his partner filling every part of his soul, signing away his own life brought no hesitation.

"I'll write whatever you want. Just leave Jim out of it."

"I thought you might see it our way." The man let go of Blair's hair and gave him a shove that sent him sprawling on the floor. 

* * *

Albrecht pulled up in front of the Cascade PD, a little stunned that Draven had plunged himself into such a precarious position as to ally himself with a cop in another city. He was opening himself to the scrutiny of the entire department, risking everything. The voice on the cell phone that had brought Albrecht there had held less conviction that it usually did. Draven was out of his element, and he was scared. He'd die--again--before admitting it, but the call asking Albrecht to join the team searching for Blair Sandburg had been a cry for help from Draven, who was up to his neck in cops who, at best, saw him as a well-intentioned lunatic, or at worst, as some kind of criminal or devil.

When he made his way to the Major Crimes bullpen, he found the object of his recent affections sitting next to Ellison's desk while the detective read the riot act to someone in records for a wrong address. Draven spotted Albrecht, and his whole demeanor spoke of relief. He stood and met Albrecht halfway between the door and Ellison's desk.

"What's going on?"

"We went out to roust some thugs Ellison thought might be part of the bunch that have Blair, and one of addresses was wrong. The homeowners aren't thrilled."

"Great. Any leads?" Albrecht asked, a bit hushed, indicating that he meant any leads of the nature Draven was famous for.

"Not beyond the descriptions I already gave you." Draven started pacing. "I haven't seen the crow since Shelly left...since I killed Top Dollar," he whispered. "No signs, nothing. I've gotten some impressions, but there's been nothing...helpful." Draven shook his head and snorted a derisive laugh. "Typical. Someone I care about needs me, and I can't come through."

"The descriptions'll help. It just takes time to work these cases the way we mere mortals do," Albrecht reassured, smiling a little and resting a hand on Draven's shoulder. 

"Blair doesn't have time. That much I know. We have to find him. These men who have him...they'll kill him."

"You want to explain how you arrived at that conclusion?" Ellison joined the group, startling both men by having picked up on the hushed conversation.

"I can't. I just know it."

"Albrecht--what brings you over here tonight? I would have thought you'd be tied up with the Perry situation."

"Draven called me," he answered honestly. "Any leads on Sandburg's whereabouts?"

"Nothing. We've been over the loft repeatedly, we're wading through all the known associates and assorted hired help connected to Morgan and his father's various enterprises. That in itself could take days." Ellison paced back to his desk and threw the pad of paper he'd been carrying down on it with a loud _splat_. "We don't have _days_. We may not even have _hours_."

"Let's go back to your apartment," Draven suggested. "Maybe there's... _something_ there that could trigger--"

"What? More psychic impressions?"

"I was right about him being kidnapped, wasn't I? What means more to you? Blair's life or being right?"

"You son of a--" Jim started toward Draven, and the other man's body stiffened and his arms moved into position to deal with the oncoming man. Albrecht stepped between them.

"There isn't time for this. We've got a missing person we have good reason to believe is in danger of becoming a murder victim. Let's just put whatever _stuff_ is going down between the two of you aside and stay focused."

"Maybe you can explain this situation to me, Albrecht. Because I sure as hell have had about all the mumbo-jumbo, hocus pocus shit from your friend here that I want to put up with in this lifetime."

"I can't explain it completely either. I just know that Draven's on the up and up. His... _impressions_ have been right on every time."

"You trust him?" Jim tuned into Albrecht's pulse, heartrate and overall demeanor, waiting for the answer. This was a normal, live human being he could read. What he read in the other man as Albrecht thought of Draven unnerved him considerably. There was definitely a familiarity and affection between Albrecht and Draven, but Jim never expected to pick up on the traces of desire and a faint hint of arousal in the other cop at the thought of the mysterious dark-haired man that was the bone of contention.

"With my life," Albrecht said in his simple, quietly assertive way.

"All right. Let's go back to the loft then. I'll let Simon know where we're headed."

* * *

"Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" the bearded man sneered, folding the note with gloved hands and putting it in the envelope on the front of which Blair had been made to write "Jim". "Lick this and seal it." He handed it back to Blair, who did as he was told, his hands having been released from the ropes long enough to produce the note. When he'd finished, the other man snatched the envelope away from him. He motioned to one of the other goons, who was sprawled in a chair, watching the portable television they'd set up on a couple of crates. "Take this over to Ellison's place and leave it for the hero."

"Fuck off. Take it yourself," the other man grumbled, taking another swig of his beer.

"You want to go first? Take the fucking letter."

"You better not touch him 'til I get back." He rose from the chair and lumbered over to where the letter was held out to him. He leered over at Blair. "Bet you give Ellison some good ass, huh?" Blair was silent. He couldn't come up with any retort suitable for such an insult, and anything he would say would only earn him another fist in the face. "Hope he hasn't gotten you all loosened up. I like a nice, tight little ass under me."

"Just get going," the bearded man prodded. "You dawdle around much longer and nobody's going have time to grab a little before we get rid of him."

The other man left, and Blair held onto the thought that he had a brief reprieve from the horrors he'd still face that night, since the departing man had been promised the first round. Hal was in the other chair, watching the small TV, and the bearded man was pacing around now, still keeping an eye on Blair. 

"What's your name?" Blair asked, wondering if the human approach might work with either of his remaining captors. He doubted it seriously, but it was worth a shot.

"What do you care?"

"You're going to kill me. That makes you one of the more significant people in my life. I'd like to know who you are."

"Put a gag on the bitch," Hal grumbled from the chair. "I'm tryin' to watch the game."

"Roadie."

"Roadie?" Blair asked, stunned that the bearded man had answered him. "Like a roadie who works with a band?"

"Yeah, I used to tour with some of the big names. Setting up their gear. So the nickname stuck."

"Why'd you quit doing that?"

"Why?"

"Just curious." Blair looked down at his own folded hands on the table.

"This job pays better."

"Do you like doing this?"

"This job pays better," the man repeated, straddling a chair across the table from Blair. 

"I hear that," Blair said quietly. "You miss traveling?"

"What is this, twenty questions?"

"I guess I'm just nervous. Talking helps." He looked over at Roadie. "You planning on taking a turn too?"

"That an invitation?" he leered.

"No. Just a question. I wanted to know what to expect."

"I don't swing that way. Hal over here, now he might be interested. Eh, Hal?"

"Huh?"

"You want a piece of ass tonight?"

"Him? After Mac's done? No thanks."

"I guess you're all Mac's."

"Please, don't do this to me. I know you're going to kill me and I can't talk you out of that, but please, don't--"

"I'm not gonna do anything to you, kid. That's up to Mac. He gets dibs since he ran the errand." 

"You gonna gag him or do I have to do it?" Hal spoke up from his seat about twenty feet away from the table where Blair and Roadie sat. At that, Roadie stood and walked over toward Blair.

"Hands behind the chair, kid," he ordered. Blair hesitantly complied, knowing he had nowhere to go and no chance of escape even if he disobeyed.

"You don't want to kill me, man. You know you don't."

"This ain't about what I want, kid. It's a job." Roadie moved around the front of the chair and picked up a ragged piece of cloth from the table and gagged Blair with it, tying it securely in the back. 

* * *

Draven walked slowly into the loft, while Ellison and Albrecht stayed several paces behind him. He moved toward the couch, and picked up Blair's glasses, which were sitting on the coffee table. Holding them in his hand, he closed his eyes. Visions filled his mind of Jim and Blair laughing, their faces close, Jim sliding the glasses off Blair's face, the two men falling back on the cushions, kissing passionately. The love was like a tangible stab in Draven's heart, it was so intense. 

He laid the glasses back on the table and moved about the room. A few stray images of Blair's captors came to him, but they revealed nothing he didn't already know. He picked up a book Blair had left on the table, and smiled slightly, sadly, at the images of his friend reading, glasses in place, the pleasant face all seriousness about his studies. Mr. All-But-Dissertation. 

"I'm sorry, Blair. I'm so sorry," he whispered. 

"Nothing?" It was Albrecht's voice, the tone as gentle as a caress.

"Nothing useful," Eric responded, looking over his shoulder at the two cops who had been silent while he roamed the room. Ellison was sitting at the kitchen table, staring fixedly ahead, Sandburg's jacket cradled on his lap as if Sandburg himself were in it. Eric moved toward him, waved a hand in front of his face and then looked back at Albrecht. Ellison's eyes never moved, and he made no indication that he'd seen Draven at all.

"Ellison?" Albrecht stepped forward, snapping his fingers near the detective's ear. Nothing moved him. 

"Jim, listen to me." Draven knelt in front of the catatonic man. "Blair needs you. You can't do this. Shutting down is _not_ an option. Think about Blair." Draven's eyes darted around the room, looking for some other object of Sandburg's that would capture Ellison's attention. An inspiration hit him and he raced up the stairs to the loft bedroom, searching for Blair's robe. Something that would hold the most impressions of intimacy, the strongest lingerings of Blair's own personal scent. Blair had told Eric that Jim had an unusually strong sense of smell...Draven frowned a little. Over the course of the time he'd known Blair, he could recall the other man mentioning Jim's acute sense of smell, how sensitive his hearing was, that bright light annoyed him, that he had great night vision... Something was different about Ellison, all right. And while Blair would never describe it in so many words, the clues were all there. What it all meant, Eric wasn't sure. But he did figure, as he caught a faint trace of light aftershave on the robe, that Jim would be able to pick up the scent, and maybe it would divert him from his...obsession? with Blair's jacket.

"He's not snapping out of it," Albrecht stated, still waving a hand in front of Jim's face.

"Let me try something." Draven laid the robe on top of the jacket, bringing the fabric up close to Jim's face. In a moment, Jim's head jerked, and then he shook it, as if shaking off a stupor, and looked down at the robe, then curiously at Draven and Albrecht. 

"What's this doing here?" He took a gentle hold of Blair's robe, his hands moving over it much the way they would if Blair were in it.

"You were...I don't know _what_ you were," Albrecht said, shaking his head.

"You were catatonic...sort of. I thought maybe something else of Blair's would help you snap out of it," Draven explained. 

"Did you pick up on anything?" Jim asked, still looking a bit disoriented, but standing up anyway, laying Blair's things carefully, lovingly, on the edge of the table.

"Nothing," Draven admitted, a definite note of defeat in his voice.

"Was that here before?" Albrecht pointed to an envelope that was propped against a lamp on the table near the door. They had all walked right past it.

"No." Jim moved toward it, remembering to pull on a pair of latex gloves before handling it, just in case. "It's Blair's writing," Jim said, pulling a knife out of his pocket and carefully slitting the top of the envelope. He read it aloud to the other two men.

"Jim--

Sorry to run out on you like this, but I know you won't want me around when you know what I've done. No one can know how hard it is to admit that I planted the evidence at Derrick Morgan's house. I wanted you to be proud of me and my police work. Please try to forgive me. Everyone will be better off if I move on, so that's what I'm doing. Remember the good times, and please try to remember the good things I did, and not this one screw up. 

Blair"

"Sort of a jerky sounding note," Albrecht commented, looking over Ellison's shoulder. "Are any of his clothes missing?"

"There are a few things I can't find, and one of his gym bags is gone," Jim responded. "But you're right. This note...it's just...not right. Aside from the fact that it's ridiculous and untrue, there are several things about it--Blair had to have been forced to write this note."

"May I?" Eric asked, reaching for it.

"Here," Albrecht produced gloves and handed them to Eric. 

"You guys travel with latex gloves all the time?" Draven's question broke the tension momentarily, and both of the other men smiled, Albrecht chuckling a little. 

"Ideally, a detective should have them on hand, yeah," he responded. Pulling on the gloves, Eric took the note from Jim. This time, the flashes were more than a little upsetting.

He could see Blair, writing the note, dried blood caked on his nose and near his mouth, his eyes swollen with bruises. His pain and his fear were almost tangible. 

"He knew that by writing this note, he was signing away his life," Draven said softly, still concentrating on the images. "He's trying to give you a message...it's in the letters he uses..." Draven opened his eyes. "That's it."

"In the letters?" Albrecht asked.

"Let's try something." Jim took the letter to the kitchen table and sat down with it, pulling a yellow legal pad Blair had left out there over next to the letter. He began writing the first letter of the first word of each sentence on the paper. "S-N-I-P-E-R." Jim frowned. "Sniper?"

"It's a message to you."

"I should watch out for a sniper?" Jim shook his head. "Blair consented to write this so he could warn me."

"And because they were beating him," Draven said, a bit hesitantly. Still, if the worst happened, Jim might as well be prepared that it might not be pretty.

"When I find these motherfuckers..." Jim crumpled the sheet of legal pad paper in his hand.

"I'll help you," Draven added, a cold conviction in his voice.

"Nobody's going to start doling out vigilante justice here," Albrecht interjected, hoping to be the voice of reason. He had seen Draven when he was hell bent for vengeance, and it wasn't pretty. He didn't envision Ellison being any easier to tame. "We don't have any reason to believe Sandburg's dead yet."

"He outlived his usefulness when he wrote this," Jim said grimly. Then he was out of the chair in a flash and out the door, with the other two men following behind him.

* * *

Blair heard the key turn in the lock, and his heart sank as Mac walked through the door, grinning and giving Blair a lustful once over. 

"You have any problems?" Roadie asked him, rising from the chair where he'd been sitting at the table, playing a round of Solitaire.

"Nope. Cops were gone, so I slipped right up the fire escape, used pretty boy's key, and left it right there by the front door."

"Good work." Roadie looked back at Blair, who was staring at the tabletop, his chest heaving, giving away the somewhat admirable attempt he was making at bravado in the face of impending rape, then death. "I don't think we better take time out for fun and games," he said surprisingly. "The cops are gonna be hot on his trail." 

Blair felt a little surge of hope at this inkling of what might be humanity or mercy on the part of the man he'd tried communicating with earlier. Of course, nothing had been said about not killing him, but if only he could be spared the torture of being brutalized by Mac first, at least facing the end wouldn't be quite as unthinkable.

"Not now they're not." Mac grinned evilly and flexed his eyebrows.

"If they buy the note." Roadie shook his head. "I got a bad feeling about this one. I think we better bag the kid and hit the road."

"There's that goddamned bird again!" Hal hoisted himself out of his chair and headed toward the broken out window where a large crow sat, flapping its wings and cawing noisily. Before he could make a swipe at it with a beefy backhand, the bird escaped, flying off into the night sky.

Blair watched the momentary diversion, and thought back of the crow he'd seen at the cemetery, near Eric's grave. And of Eric's explanation of the crow and its role as a sort of spirit guide. He closed his eyes and prayed that there was more meaning to the appearance of this bird than just coincidence.

"A deal's a deal." Mac moved toward Blair. "Besides, it won't take me long." He grabbed the rope they'd been using to tie Blair and headed for the younger man's ankles, planning to immobilize him completely, at least until he could tie him down in another place more suitable for what he had in mind. He barely missed the kick Blair aimed at his head. "Whoa! He's gettin' feisty now!" Mac laughed as he managed to tie Blair's ankles together. "That's good. I like a little spirit. But mark my words, bitch, you give me too much trouble," he produced a switchblade from his pocket and popped up the sharp blade. "I'll slice you up so bad that your boyfriend won't even recognize what's left of you." 

"Mac, I'm tellin' you, man, this is too risky. We need to get the hell out of here--"

"Ten minutes ain't gonna make no difference," Mac asserted, hoisting Blair out of the chair and dumping him over his shoulder easily, heading toward the old mattress in the corner of the room. "That old radiator sturdy?"

"Sure is," Hal responded, laughing a little and moving the toothpick in his mouth from side to side. "Need some help there, Mac?"

"Get over here and hold his legs." Mac dumped Blair on his back on the mattress, and as Hal held the bound legs flat, he tied Blair's wrists to the coils of the old radiator. Blair was struggling now, grunting against the gag with the exertion of his efforts. There was pure terror in his eyes, and he had no way to hide that. 

"He's a live one, man." Hal laughed at the fruitless attempts Blair made to move his legs. 

"You want to give him a little incentive to shut up?" Mac prodded his chortling companion. Hal moved up and backhanded Blair across the face, then pointed a handgun at him. 

"Lie still, or I'll shoot you in a lot of places you don't need to get shot before you're done."

Blair gave up on his struggles then. He was going to be raped. That was a given. And when Mac had taken his fill, he was going to be murdered. The only variables now were how long each of those ordeals would take, and how gruesome they would be. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to the pain, and ultimately, the death, that would come to him this night.

Continued in part five.


	5. Chapter 5

Due to the size of this story, it's been split into 5 parts.

## The Eighth Circle

by Candy Apple

Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Continued from part four. 

* * *

**THE EIGHTH CIRCLE** \- part five  
by Candy Apple 

The three men walked out to the parking lot, and as Draven swung his leg over his motorcycle and landed in the seat, his eyes widened. Perched atop Ellison's truck was the crow, cawing loudly and flapping its wings. In a moment, it was in flight, and without a word of explanation, Draven fired up the bike and was hot on its trail.

"Follow him!" Albrecht shouted, jumping into the passenger side of Ellison's truck as the other man got in and gunned the engine and sped out of the lot after Draven. 

"One of these days, you're going to have to explain to me what that guy's all about," Ellison said, engaging the siren and lights to cut through the traffic.

"If I understood it myself, I'd tell you."

"He keeps telling me to ask you, that you'll vouch for him." Ellison concentrated on taking a particularly tight corner. "Blair believes him."

"I felt the same way you did at first--I thought he was probably the murderer. Maybe he somehow killed his girlfriend and went into hiding. Or that he was an imposter." Albrecht shook his head. "But his grave is empty, his prints match...and I've seen him survive multiple slugs from a machine gun."

"And you're in love with the guy. That makes a difference too," Jim said, no real tone of accusation in his voice. How he could have discerned that from their contact thus far seemed to puzzle Albrecht completely.

"What makes you say that?"

"Call it instinct."

As the motorcycle led the pick up down a main street of town, Draven kept making a slashing gesture across his throat.

"Cut the siren," Albrecht interpreted. Jim obeyed, silencing their approach. Draven turned down an alley that ran between two old buildings, one of which was condemned and slated for demolition in a few weeks. He brought the motorcycle to a halt, and bounded off the bike, fleeing like a shadow through a side entrance to the building.

* * *

Blair strained against his gag, wanting to scream, and hating the strangled sounds that were coming out instead. Stripped except for the torn remnants of his shirt that still hung from his bound arms, he struggled with all the strength he had left against the hands that were trying to push his legs apart and force his knees back toward his chest. He waited for an opportunity to strike out, since Mac had opted, with many heavy threats for him to behave, to untie Blair's ankles to make things more convenient for himself. //Jim always said I had powerful legs,// Blair thought, and began using them to the best of his ability, finally nailing his attacker square in the stomach.

"Get his legs!" Mac yelled at Hal, who, with great disinterest in the whole project, got a hold of one flailing leg while Mac forced the other one down.

"How're you gonna fuck him like this?"

"He's going to behave himself." Mac pulled out his switchblade and ran it along the tender skin inside of Blair's thigh. "You kick me again, bitch, and you're going to be singin' soprano. One more stunt like that and I'll chop your balls off and mail them to your boyfriend. Got it?" The smile that curled the man's ugly mouth became a bit more sadistic. "Maybe I'll chop 'em off right now. I just need your asshole, not your nuts."

The door crashed open behind them, and in the doorway stood a black clad figure, his shockingly white face accented by a black painted mouth and large, dark, black-rimmed eyes. 

"You're just jealous because you don't have any of your own," Draven taunted. 

Roadie fired his handgun at Draven, who caught the bullet in his hand, and with a minor wince, held it up so the other man could watch it heal before his eyes. In a flash of movements no one in the room could truly see and describe later, Draven's foot made contact with Roadie's jaw, sending him sprawling back on the floor. 

Seeing someone partially stripped, held down on a bed by two goons, long brown curls fanned out on the dirty mattress, Eric fought the collision of images of the present and of Shelly's ordeal, which wasn't vastly different from what Blair was about to endure. With a cry that wasn't wholly human, Draven was upon Mac, unleashing a fury of violent kicks and swings with powerful arms, sending the much larger man flying, airborne, against the opposite wall of the room.

"Hold it right there!" Ellison burst through the open door first, holding the gun on Hal before he could move for the sniper rifle that had been resting a few feet away from where the two men had been assaulting Blair.

Albrecht rushed in behind him, surveying the destruction Draven had already caused. Roadie was cradling a broken jaw, while Mac was completely unconscious, possibly dead, having left a splotch of blood where he'd slammed into the wall.

Draven had already forgotten his victims, and was laying his coat over Blair, working on freeing him first from the gag.

"That was," Blair paused to cough, "pretty amazing stuff," he concluded. "It was the crow?"

"He led me here," Eric explained, smiling at his battered friend. "I haven't seen the crow in weeks, but he led me here tonight."

"Chief?" Jim moved to untie Blair's wrists, and Eric moved away, leaving the two men to their reunion. Albrecht was on his cell phone, calling for back up with one hand, holding a gun on Hal and the wounded Roadie. Mac was still in a motionless heap.

"Oh, God, Jim," Blair muttered, ignoring the pain that flared through his battered body as Jim gathered him into a tight embrace. He gave up on words and just let himself cry against Jim's shoulder while his lover held him.

"It's okay, baby. I've got you now." Jim could detect the scent of sweat and arousal in the air, but not of semen. There was a scent of blood, but that was originating with Mac and Roadie, as well as the dried stuff that clung to Blair's bruised face. "Did we get here in time?" he whispered against Blair's hair. The other man nodded, clutching at Jim more desperately.

"I wouldn't...let him...touch me," Blair gasped out against Jim's shoulder. 

"I know, sweetheart. I know." Jim kissed the tangled curls and cradled his prize close to him, not caring what Albrecht or anyone else might make of it.

"Is he dead?" Albrecht asked as Draven checked Mac's pulse.

"No," Eric replied, a distinct tone of disappointment in his voice. 

"You should get out of here before the back up arrives," Albrecht warned Draven, who locked gazes with him for a long moment, something unreadable in the dark eyes. "I'll find you later," Albrecht said, almost in a whisper. 

"Draven." Jim's voice halted Eric in his strides to the door. He turned back to look at Jim, holding Blair close, much as he had cradled Sandburg's jacket earlier that evening. "Thank you." Eric smiled slightly and nodded once, then turned and disappeared into the shadows of the hallway.

"I don't want to be like this when the others get here," Blair muttered as Jim rubbed soothing circles on his back. 

"Okay. Where are your pants, honey?"

"Over there somewhere."

"Albrecht--you got our friends covered?" Jim asked, moving away from Blair to find the discarded jeans and underwear. The other detective was still holding his gun on Roadie, having cuffed Hall.

"I can get dressed," Blair said as Jim returned with the jeans. "Don't let them get away," he insisted.

"No danger of that," Jim responded, kissing Blair's forehead before rising and cuffing Roadie and the unconscious Mac. 

* * *

It was just after dawn when Albrecht pulled up alongside the grassy hill of the cemetery. He made his way up the hill to the grave marker that coldly declared "Eric Draven". Its mate, bearing Shelly's name, looked equally grim on this early December day that had turned cloudy after the early morning sunshine. Remnants of the ice storm still clung to the tree branches like glass talons on gnarled claws. The ground had largely recovered from the exhumation of the empty casket. Daryl had done some fancy talking around the absence of Draven's body. His superiors seemed content that it had been the work of perverted grave robbers...death metal enthusiasts who had entertained notions of either keeping, preserving or re-animating the dead musician. The veneration of Draven's guitar was sufficient back up to make that theory fly. If his guitar was a shrine in the pawn shop window, was it so unlikely his corpse might also be a hot commodity?

Looking at Shelly's grave, Albrecht remembered the battered, suffering woman he'd tried to talk to in the short span of time she lived after her ordeal. What would she make of all this? And what did Eric really make of all of it? Was his heart still with Shelly? 

"Find any answers?" Draven's voice made Albrecht jump. The man he faced was not the handsome, very human face of the lover he'd spent the night with. Now he looked into the face of whatever it was Draven changed into on those occasions that his entire appearance reinvented itself. 

"What brought this on?" Albrecht swept Draven's countenance with his eyes. "Still riding the tide from last night?" He watched as Eric shook his head slightly.

"It just happens. I was upset. Sometimes that brings it on. I thought maybe if I came here, I could make some connection with Shelly." He paused, staring at Shelly's tombstone. "How's Blair?"

"He's pretty shaken up, but he's okay. Last time I saw them, Ellison was taking him to the emergency room to get looked over." Albrecht smiled and shook his head. "You left us with some pretty fancy explaining to do."

"Nothing you couldn't handle, I'm sure," Draven responded, his eyes traveling to his own grave marker.

"Ellison was in Covert Ops--knows quite a few martial arts and combat moves. He took responsibility for the guy you tossed against the wall. They've been babbling about some guy who caught a bullet in his hand and healed, which has only gotten them an extensive dose of drug testing."

"I saw the crow again," Eric said, with a combination of hope and sadness in his voice. "I guess I am what I am after all."

"Last night--a little too similar to what happened to Shelly?" Albrecht asked. Draven's eyes registered that the speculation was correct. 

"At least this time, I didn't fail. I was able to _do_ something."

"You didn't fail the last time, man. When're you going to believe that?"

"Probably never," Eric responded honestly, still staring at Shelly's grave. "Maybe last night...maybe saving Blair's life, maybe keeping those assholes from doing what they planned on doing...the same kind of things that were done to Shelly...maybe it's a little redemption."

"If you ask Ellison or Sandburg right now, they'll tell you it's more than a little redemption." Albrecht paused. "Ellison knows something's going on between us."

"Under the circumstances, I wouldn't worry too much about that."

"I never would have pictured him--with Sandburg."

"You'd picture you and me?" Eric asked, raising an eyebrow and smiling slightly.

"Point made," Albrecht responded, laughing a little.

"So why're you here?" Draven asked.

"I don't know. I feel like things are pretty unfinished between us. I don't like to leave things unfinished with the people I love." He looked over at Draven, and it was hard to tell if there was still a smile under the turned up corners of his painted mouth, but judging by the slight crinkle of the eyes, it looked that way.

"You want Shelly's blessing."

"I suppose I do. I didn't know Shelly very long, and I wasn't lucky enough to know her when she was...before all this happened. But she seemed like a remarkable young woman."

"She was that," Eric responded, crouching down to bring himself face to face with the carved name. "You know why I came out here? To find out how I could hurt this much for her and love you at the same time." Eric went the rest of the way down to his knees on the ice-crusted grass, running a pale hand over the cold gray stone. "You kept asking me what I was. I don't know. I don't know how to...to be this thing I am. Part of my heart is with Shelly, and part of it is with you. I look at Eric Draven's grave, and I don't even remember sometimes what it was like to be that guy. And I look in the mirror and I see this!" he shouted, the pain and frustration obvious in his voice as he gestured at his oddly painted face. "Part of me wants to be in that grave and part of me clings to life so hard that the thing I fear most is being put back there."

"And that's what made you...transform like this?"

"I guess." He snorted an ugly little laugh. "At least I look like I belong hanging out with the tombstones this way." He looked up at Albrecht. "This is what you made love to. Is this what you want to keep as your lover?!" he demanded, and Albrecht stood back, stunned at what he was seeing. Tears of blood trickled down Draven's white cheeks. "This is the other side of me, Albrecht! Look at it! Take a good long look at it and tell me if you can love... _this_!" He gestured at the now-blood streaked face.

Albrecht stared at the desperate man before him, and knew that the love between them rode on his response to this single, horrifying moment. Ignoring the blood tears and what looked like evil mime make-up, he concentrated on the big dark eyes that hadn't really changed at all since the night they'd made love. Focusing only on those, he took the troubled face in his hands and kissed Draven soundly on the mouth, overpowering a couple of feeble struggles that soon gave in to arms wrapping around Albrecht's body as the kiss deepened. 

When they finally parted, Albrecht found himself looking into the face of Eric Draven, not his white-faced alter ego. Blood tears had changed to normal, clear moisture.

"You really do love me, don't you?" he asked Albrecht, his eyes wide with surprise.

"I keep telling you," Albrecht said with a little smile. "Shelly loves you, man. Do you really think she wants you to suffer? Would she be angry if you found love in this lifetime?"

"No," Eric said, shaking his head and smiling softly as he looked down at Shelly's grave. "She was a lot more unselfish than that."

"Draven." Albrecht waited until the other man looked him in the eyes again. "All I'm asking for is your here and now. Your soul, your eternity--those are yours to do with what you have to do, what it feels right to you to do. Don't look at loving me as turning your back on Shelly. On whatever lies on the other side. I know I'm always going to share you with that. But I want my share." Albrecht smiled, brushing away a couple of tears from the other man's face. "If all goes well, I should be free about eight tonight. Maybe we could spend a little time together. Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

"Okay." Eric nodded, smiling as he realized they were still holding hands as they headed for Albrecht's car. An unusually warm breeze swirled around them in that moment, and Eric froze in his tracks, which caused Albrecht to stop as well. "Shelly," Eric said, smiling, looking around himself as if he could see something tangible in the breeze. His smiled widened until his teeth were showing, and he yanked Albrecht by the hand closer until he could get his arm around the man's waist. "Let's go."

"Did I miss something?"

"No," Eric responded as Albrecht's arm came around his shoulders. "And Shelly doesn't want me to miss something either." Draven paused to turn and face Albrecht. "I told shelly that I loved her in circles seven times around my soul. And I do. I can't change that. But maybe loving you is the eighth circle."

"I think maybe we ought to spend tonight figuring that out. What do you think?" Albrecht watched as Draven just smiled his impish grin and slid his arm back around Daryl's waist, steering them back toward the car.

* * *

"You should be fine in a week or so, Mr. Sandburg," the doctor announced, making a couple of notes on his chart. Jim had stayed by Blair's side during the brief exam, and now rested a hand on the younger man's shoulder as he buttoned up the fresh shirt they'd found among the clothing Blair's captors had taken in their attempt to make his departure look planned. "You're bruised up, but fortunately, nothing's broken. I just need your signature on this form and we can wrap this up."

"Thanks, doctor," Blair said, signing his name. Once the doctor had left, he looked up at Jim. "Guess I'm dented but salvageable."

"Probably nothing a hot bath and a few hours sleep won't help, huh?"

"And two icebags and a pair of sunglasses. Man, I look horrible," Blair opined, checking his bruised face in the mirror on the wall as he finished tucking his shirt into his pants. 

"You look beautiful to me, baby," Jim said softly, moving up behind Blair and sliding his arms carefully around his lover's bruised body.

"Somebody might come in, man," Blair said, trying to wriggle away.

"Let 'em." Draven's words came back to Jim, that there was a lot of pain in Blair at their closeted lifestyle. "I'm not ashamed of loving you, sweetheart." Jim kissed the side of Blair's face, letting his lips linger soothingly over the vibrant purplish-red bruise there. 

"Let's go home."

"Sounds good to me, Chief."

"We have to stop and get a Christmas tree."

"Blair, you need to get home and rest a while."

"Christmas is less than a week away, and we don't have a tree, man."

"You want a tree, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Right this minute."

"Uh-huh."

"A really big, tall one to fill up the whole loft, right?" Jim continued, a smile in his voice as he kissed the ear where he was whispering.

"That'd be great!"

"We'll get the biggest damn tree we can haul in the truck. How's that?"

"Great." Blair grinned as best he could under the swelling around his mouth.

"Let's get going then." Jim took a firm hold of Blair's hand and led his somewhat ragged companion out of the exam room toward the exit. He was still dressed in Draven's coat, which was too long for him, and his face bore the obvious after-effects of his ordeal. Blair finally conceded to stopping at the loft long enough for Jim to run upstairs and grab him one of his own jackets as well as a pair of sunglasses and a hair band. When the larger man returned to the truck with the items, he was still puzzled why Blair was insisting on going immediately after a tree. "We could do this later, sweetheart."

"Last night, I had to accept that I was going to die." Blair hesitated as he pulled his ratty curls back into the hair band. Jim was standing in the open passenger door, watching him. "I had to accept that I was going to...what they were going to do to me first." Blair raised a hand to forestall Jim's reply. "For the last two weeks, we've put off going after the tree because it didn't fit into our schedules. This morning, I'm alive, we're together, against all the odds, and I want to go buy a Christmas tree. _Now_." He smiled. "And then I want to crawl into bed with you and sleep this whole thing off."

"You know how to give a guy a great incentive to get the lead out." Jim kissed his lover quickly and hurried around to his side of the truck.

Two hours later, a nine foot scotch pine stood in the middle of the loft, and two exhausted men lay on the nearby couch, having dragged, pulled, carried, and shoved it into place. Every part of Blair's body screamed in pain from the exertion, but he'd loved every minute of it. Something about preparing for the holiday was as life-affirming as making love, which he hoped to try out later, if only his bruised body would just cooperate without too much protest.

"We could take a bath and get some sleep before we tackle decorating this monster."

"Mmm." Blair shifted a little against Jim's chest. The bath sounded wonderful, but the thought of delaying the sleep didn't.

"I want you nice and relaxed when I lick every inch of you, Chief," Jim whispered hotly into a nearby ear. Blair stirred for that and looked Jim in the eyes. "Every inch. I'm going to put my tongue in places you forgot you had." He illustrated the point by running the tip of his tongue around the shell of Blair's ear. "Gonna suck you so good I pull your soul right out through your cock."

"Oh, God, Jim," Blair gasped, spreading his legs to straddle Jim on the couch, grinding their groins together. "Need you so bad," he groaned into Jim's ear, nipping and sucking at the lobe.

"Come on, baby. Let's get ready." Jim nudged gently at his clinging lover until they were on their feet and headed for the bathroom. 

After drawing a hot bath, both men dispensed with clothes they'd worn far too long. Jim lowered himself into the water first, and then guided his lover into the water in the space in front of him, between his long legs. He relished the task of gently bathing Blair, washing his hair, and kissing the ugly dark bruises that marred the perfect skin. Blair returned the favor, soaping up the impressive planes of Jim's broad chest, lingering devilishly in his bathing of his lover's groin area, and finally washing Jim's hair. 

Drying off with fluffy white towels, then wrapping up in their robes, they made their way upstairs, hand in hand. 

Falling together on the bed, they divested each other of the robes in record time, hands roaming almost frantically over exposed flesh, lips and tongues licking, sucking and tasting. Jim handled his bruised lover with the utmost caution even in the heat of his passion, taking care not to cause Blair any undue pain.

Jim made good on his promise to explore every inch of his mate's rapidly overheating body with his tongue. He nibbled and tasted the soft flesh of Blair's throat and shoulders, laved and sucked at taut nipples until he had the younger man groaning with pleasure, then moved down to the firm stomach, swirling his tongue in the little valley there. Sensing that prolonging the experience was becoming frustrating for the man writhing on the bed, Jim moved toward his target, and swallowed Blair whole.

"Jiiiimmm!!" Blair shouted out his name and clutched the comforter until his knuckles turned white, trying not to thrust too hard into Jim's talented mouth as it worked every inch of Blair's engorged cock. "Oh yeah...oh, man...love this..." Blair grunted, settling into a rhythm, trailing off into broken groans of pleasure. He gasped and whined, a needy little sound, when Jim withdrew his mouth. The larger man moved up the bed with the stealth and grace of a large jungle cat and captured Blair's mouth, kissing him as thoroughly as he'd been sucking him moments earlier.

"Want you to come in me, baby," he said against Blair's mouth. 

"Yes," Blair hissed, kissing Jim this time, taking charge, rolling them over so he straddled his lover. From Jim's mouth, Blair moved down the long neck and made a hot trail with tongue and lips to Jim's left nipple. Jim's hands were in his hair then, trying to hold him there. Blair paused his stimulation of the little nub just to close his eyes and relish the feeling of Jim's hands in his hair, so strong and yet so gentle, keeping hold but not pulling.

"What is it, baby?" Jim asked softly, puzzled by Blair's sudden stillness.

"They kept...grabbing me by the hair, pulling it...pulling my head back..." Jim started to withdraw his hands. "No--no, I want to feel your hands there. I love it when you get all tangled up in my hair. I just...last night, I kept thinking how it hurt to have my head yanked back all the time that way, and how you were as strong as any of them...but when you touched my hair...I just can't explain it."

"I think you just did, sweetheart." Jim pulled his lover down against him, holding him close, keeping one hand tangled in the soft curls. He kissed the top of Blair's head in several spots. "It was a pretty bad time, wasn't it?" he asked sympathetically. Blair just took in a shuddering breath in response. "It's okay, baby. You're safe now. I've got you."

"I didn't want to do this now," came the shaky response.

"It's okay to be shaken up, Chief." Jim was quiet a few minutes, and finally Blair moved up again, looking into his eyes.

"I love you."

"I love you too," Jim responded, smiling and caressing a bruised cheek. 

The two men began kissing again, and it didn't take long for their neglected arousals to reach their former levels. Blair nibbled and licked his way down the hard muscles of Jim's chest and stomach, and almost without warning, engulfed the head of Jim's straining cock in his mouth.

"Oh, baby...God...you're so good..." Jim moaned, trying hard not to thrust up forcefully into the hot suction closing in around him. Blair took more of the hard length into his mouth, bringing Jim to the brink before pulling back with a devilish glint in his deep blue eyes. Jim chuckled a little, which left Blair stunned. "I was just thinking that you're the only person I've ever seen who could look sexy with two black eyes." Blair shared the laugh then, but soon returned to the task at hand--driving Jim Ellison to the edge of his sexual endurance.

Jim felt the silky curls brushing his inner thighs and Blair made himself at home between the larger man's legs, kissing, nipping and nuzzling Jim's groin, and running his tongue around Jim's balls, sucking first one, and then the other, into that talented mouth. 

"I'm getting close, baby..." Jim groaned, arching into the stimulation. 

"Want you to come when I'm inside, lover," Blair said, moving back while Jim rolled onto his stomach. Presented with the muscled back and perfect rounded ass, Blair took in a sharp breath. He ran both hands over Jim's shoulders and back reverently, as if he were carefully examining a rare artifact. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered. 

Finding the lube where they'd tossed it on the empty side of the bed, Blair settled between Jim's spread thighs and began to work slowly and patiently at preparing him. He nipped and kissed at the firm globes nearby, and smiled a little wickedly when Jim's hips started undulating along with the probing fingers. Blair let one long digit graze the larger man's prostate, and was rewarded with a shout of pleasure and an impressive show of the mass of muscles in his lover's perfectly sculpted back. 

"Do it, baby," Jim grunted.

"It's coming, lover. Gonna fill you up." Blair lubed himself and moved in close, starting to push in slowly. 

"Wait a second, Chief." Jim moved up, and Blair moved with him, until Jim was on his knees and Blair was in a crouch behind him, resting a good deal of his weight on Jim's back. When he was fully sheathed, he began pumping gently. "Come on, baby, move...give it to me."

"Oh, yeah...so...tight..." Blair started pumping harder, faster, goaded by Jim's backward thrusts and cries of pleasure as the head of Blair's cock gave his lover's prostate a vigorous workout. "Ugh...ooh...yeah..." Blair trailed off into a series of inarticulate grunts of pleasure that fit with Jim's in almost perfect counter-rhythm, mimicking the give and take of their lovemaking.

Jim's whole body stiffened and with a cry of Blair's name, the tight channel began milking Blair's imprisoned cock, the spasms pushing Blair over the edge to his own completion as he let out a wail of pleasure and a shout of Jim's name.

Somehow, Jim managed to lower them both to the mattress, Blair a sweaty, panting heap on his back, cock still nestled in Jim's body.

"That was great, sweetheart," Jim said a little breathlessly as he waited for his heart rate to settle down. Blair just groaned in reply.

"You knew what I needed," Blair finally whispered, withdrawing slowly from Jim's body so the other man could turn. They wrapped arms and legs around each other in a tight, complete embrace. 

"I'm glad I could give you what you needed, sweetheart."

"I felt so damned... _helpless_."

"I know."

"I couldn't stop him from stripping me, shoving my legs apart...God, they were all sitting around...looking me over like a piece of raw meat." 

"The one named Mac? He's still in ICU. I'm glad Draven got to him first. If it had been me, I swear to God, Chief, he'd have been six feet under. Nobody touches you that way. Nobody."

"I don't want to think about them anymore."

"I know, baby. Concentrate on us. And Christmas. We've got a giant tree downstairs that's as naked as we are."

"There's a mental picture." Blair pulled back and grinned up at Jim. "Can I hang some tinsel on you later?"

"Only if I can deck your balls with boughs of holly."

"Fa la la la la..." Blair retorted, laughing.

* * *

The auditorium of Port Columbia's St. Mary's School was packed, a hub of noise and activity as parents clamored for seats on the wood risers. Those who had been fortunate enough to arrive early for chairs on the floor were talking among themselves, reviewing the small folded programs that had been passed out at the door. As the lights dimmed, Eric found his place among the shadows at the edge of the auditorium.

Soon, a tall woman of about 35, with sandy hair and glasses, dressed in bright red, approached the single microphone that stood outside the curtains covering the stage. She welcomed parents and guests, and introduced the school choir, comprised of the seventh and eighth grade students. 

As soon as the curtain rose, Eric scanned the group for Sarah, and found her in the second row, dressed in her new green dress, part of her hair caught up in a sparkly barrette or comb of some sort, the ends slightly curled. 

The performance was fairly impressive for a choir of twelve to fourteen-year-olds, as they performed many traditional Christmas songs as well as a few more popular selections. Sarah's eyes occasionally strayed to the periphery of the crowd, and Eric made it a point to step out of the shadows long enough for her to see him there. That earned him a bright smile, before she turned her attention back to the concert. When it was over, he took his leave, heading down the hall of the school building before the rush of parents would leave the concert. He was surprised to hear the clicking of dress shoes in the hall behind him, coming at a fast pace.

"Eric, wait up!" Sarah was rushing to catch up to him, so he stopped and waited for her. "I wasn't sure you were going to be here. I haven't seen you around the last couple days."

"I wouldn't miss this for the world, you know that. You sounded really good up there."

"Yeah, like you could hear just me," Sarah replied, smiling and rolling her eyes a little.

"I could hear you," Eric replied simply, smiling back at her. "You look great," he commented, and she self-consciously gave herself a visual once-over.

"Darla got creative on the hair this afternoon," she explained.

"You were the prettiest girl up there, Sarah," Eric said sincerely. Again, he found himself wishing so dearly that Shelly could have seen Sarah's performance...could have seen the ratty little tomboy in her party dress singing in a choir.

"You're _way_ biased, man," she concluded, shaking her head.

"Possibly, but I still know what I saw." 

"I wish you could hang around. You know, chaperone the stupid party or something," she said, rolling her eyes again. "They reeled in a bunch of parents to do that."

"I probably wouldn't be their idea of a chaperone."

"I better get back. Darla'll go postal if she gets stuck chaperoning a party I'm not even _at_."

"Darla's a chaperone, huh?"

"Yeah, can you believe it? Next'll be the PTA."

"Have fun tonight, huh?"

"Thanks." She was silent a moment, and with a little smile, Eric turned and started walking away. "Eric?"

"Yeah?" He turned around to face her again.

"Thanks...for...you know," she said, gesturing at the dress.

"You're welcome, Sarah. See you tomorrow, huh?"

"Sure." She waved as he turned and headed down the hall, just before the rest of the audience began filing out into the hall.

* * *

Draven arrived at the door of his apartment, surprised and then a bit embarrassed to see Albrecht waiting there.

"I thought we had plans," Albrecht said, smiling. He wasn't angry, so Draven just smiled back, turning his key in the lock.

"Sorry. I forgot about Sarah's choir concert tonight."

"I was there, too. Where were you?"

"In the back. You were sitting with Darla?" Eric led the way into the apartment, and Daryl closed the door behind them.

"Yeah. She's growing up on us, Draven."

"Kids tend to do that." Eric tossed his coat over a chair and moved to the steps near the round window, lighting a few candles. "Sorry I was so late. I took a walk." 

"You and your walks."

"Got us into trouble last time, didn't it?" Eric said, smiling a bit sadly. "I never meant to do that, you know."

"I thought we had settled this." Daryl moved up to join Eric, where he sat on the steps. 

"I know you don't feel that way."

"Well," Albrecht draped his arm around the other man's shoulders, "the last couple days have been rough." Albrecht changed the subject then. "I got a phone call today from your friend, Sandburg."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He said he'd have called you but didn't know how to get a hold of you. We're invited to a Christmas party at their place on Christmas Eve."

"We?"

"That's what he said--that he wanted to invite both of us."

"So, you don't mind showing up at a Christmas party with me for your date?" Eric teased, smiling a little.

"I'm not buying you a corsage."

"Orchids are nice," Eric opined, nodding a little. Then, becoming more serious, he asked, "Have you talked to Cordelia since...since she walked in on...well, _you_?"

"I called her a couple of times, but she won't return the calls. She needs to cool off before she'll listen."

"Lousy timing--right at Christmas."

"Oh well," Daryl dismissed, shrugging. "Can't be helped." Daryl withdrew his arm and mirrored Draven's position, elbows on knees as they sat on the steps. "You're the only lover I ever had who would have tried to make a hasty exit--most of them, Cordie included, had she been in your spot, would have been rejoicing."

"You mean to rub the steady girlfriend's nose in it?"

"Something like that."

"Maybe it's because they would have been looking for something different. For a prominent spot in your life. I'm not competing for that."

"Tonight? I had the feeling you were probably there, at Sarah's concert, but it really hit me how...behind the scenes you always are."

"Technically, I'm dead, Albrecht. It doesn't get much more 'behind the scenes' than that." Eric turned to look at the other man on the step. "So, are we going to the Christmas party?"

"Sure."

"How did Blair sound? Okay?"

"He sounded fine. He was pretty shaky that night--right after it happened. But his injuries were all pretty superficial--bruises and scrapes." Albrecht watched the other man's profile in the flickering candle light, partially veiled by strands of the dark hair. He pulled those strands back, and as Draven turned, aggressively captured his mouth in an intense kiss. Within moments of the contact, he could feel Draven's body responding, turning toward him, strong hands going up to Albrecht's head to hold him in place as the kiss deepened. 

The two men barely noticed the unforgiving hardness of the wood floor as they fell back together, never breaking the union of their mouths. Hands tugged clumsily at clothing, sending partially unbuttoned, partially torn garments in all directions. They clung to one another, writhing skin on skin, kissing almost desperately. The forbidden nature of their relationship seemed to fuel the fire to burn even hotter. Knowing every moment was stolen, hidden from all the realities of Albrecht's life and from the very forces of life and death, between which Draven walked a tightrope every day he was on earth.

Albrecht pulled back, realizing what he wanted and wondering if there was any prayer that Draven would be willing to give it to him. He knew deep in his soul he wasn't prepared to give the same gift himself yet, and so the request died in his throat as he looked deep into the eyes that met his. 

"Do you have anything?" Draven asked, unnerving Albrecht by having seemingly read his mind. Or maybe he just looked deeply enough into Albrecht's troubled eyes to read his soul.

"Since I've been with Cordelia...I don't travel prepared anymore."

"I'm not worried about protection if you aren't. It's not like I'm going to catch something from you... And I don't think I'm really a big risk either. I was thinking about slippery stuff."

"Do you have anything around here?" Albrecht asked, desperate at having what he wanted so close and yet unattainable because of the lack of a usable lubricant. Draven's eyes darted upward, as if he were wracking his brain. 

"Look in the bathroom cabinet. If anything's left..." He shrugged slightly. Albrecht moved down to kiss him again. Drawing back, he caressed Draven's lips with a fingertip.

"If there is...are you sure?"

"I'm not sure of anything. But I want this. And we have to live in the moment."

"I'll go look," Albrecht responded, his voice a little strained. 

He hurried into the bathroom and opened the cabinet, relieved to find an old bottle of hand lotion there. It was unscented stuff, and he sighed happily at that. At least it wouldn't bear a scent that would remind Eric of Shelly at the most inappropriate possible moment. He stepped out of the bathroom and froze at what he saw. In the dancing candle light, Draven was laid out on the step beneath the round window where he died, skin sweat-sheened, one arm draping down over a couple of steps, one knee drawn up with his foot flat on the floor. Soon, his head turned until he was looking back at Albrecht. 

"Find something?" he asked softly.

"Uh..." Albrecht blinked a couple of times. "Yeah. Some lotion," he said after he'd found his voice, and some portion of his mind again. He moved over to where Eric lay waiting for him. "I never did this before."

"Welcome to the club," Draven responded, smiling.

"Guess we'll have to feel our way along then," Albrecht retorted in a tone he hoped came across as sexy and not as uncertain as he felt. He straddled Draven's body and intertwined the fingers of both their hands, gently pushing Draven's arms up over his head. He claimed the inviting mouth again, knowing that his dominant position was only granted to him willingly. The velvet covered steel of Draven's muscles were a constant reminder of the power in the body beneath him. 

He kissed his way down the side of Draven's neck, working his way down to a nipple, which he licked and nipped at, loving the little arch and gasp that came from his lover. He treated the other nipple to the same treatment before working his way down the tight, flat stomach, ever conscious of the large erection that rose out of a thatch of dark, wiry hair. Albrecht felt his own cock straining at the sound of Draven's little moans of pleasure, at the responsiveness of his body and the thought of what they were working their way up to with each kiss.

Not entirely sure how he felt about wrapping his mouth around another man's cock, Albrecht let his tongue flicker tentatively up the underside of Draven's hardness. 

"Oh, God..." came the panted groan from above him. Encouraged, he engulfed the head of the straining shaft curling his fingers around the base of it, sucking and teasing the sensitive area with his tongue. "I'm close," Draven grunted, working hard to control his tendency to thrust into the hot mouth. Albrecht opted to pull back then, but felt powerful hands holding his head in place. With a momentary flash of fear that Draven's supernatural strength would manifest itself when he was driven to a sexual brink, Albrecht reached up and grasped the other man's wrists, gently, pushing upward. To his relief, Eric released him easily.

"Want you to wait for me to join the party, babe," he said softly. Without any further discussion, Eric shifted and pulled his knees back, opening himself completely. Albrecht only had the marginal working knowledge of this act gleaned from his years as a cop, overhearing some war stories from his buddies in Vice, and a little from a few porno flicks. He hadn't seemed to be drawn to women who turned out to be sexual adventurers, and this wasn't an act he would have asked of most of them.

He squeezed some of the lotion onto his finger and started tracing the puckered circle of flesh. Draven moaned and bucked his hips then, and Albrecht ventured to probe the tight opening with his fingertip. 

"You ever had anything in here?" Daryl asked, not knowing a delicate way to phrase the question. The other man seemed impossibly tight and extremely responsive to even the wiggle of Daryl's fingertip.

"Nothing," he panted. 

"Nervous?"

"A little," Eric admitted, letting out a breath he seemed to have been holding. 

"We don't have to do this now--"

"I want to...it's just...different."

"Yeah, for me too." Daryl moved up, abandoning his concentration on Eric's center, and kissed him again. "You have any blankets around here?"

"Probably. Try the chest of drawers over there," he said, indicating a low, wide two-drawer chest against a far wall. Daryl went to it, and digging through the drawers, found a quilt in the bottom drawer. 

"This okay?"

"Yeah, fine." Eric was sitting up now, and Daryl spread the quilt on the floor. 

"Let's stretch out on this. Try lying on your side, and I'll get behind you."

"Guess this isn't going too well, is it?"

"We just need to find our groove."

"Our _groove_?" Eric asked, smiling.

"What works for us."

"Oh," Eric responded, grinning. "You had me worried there. 'Groove' makes me think of platform shoes and disco." Eric stretched out on his side on the quilt. 

"You're a real smart ass, you know that?"

"I have a reputation to live up to." Eric seemed more relaxed in this more comfortable position, and Daryl spooned up behind him, pulling the remaining fabric of the quilt over his back. The chill in the loft from the broken window was enough to deflate anyone's...enthusiasm. With his cock nestled between the firm globes of Eric's buttocks, Albrecht felt it surging back to life again. He ran his hand languidly over the other man's broad chest for a few moments, pulling them both back from the brink of excitement where they had been moments earlier. He kissed Draven's shoulder and then worked his way up the sturdy neck until he paused by an ear obscured by the black silk of Draven's hair. 

"Relax and breathe easy. I'm going real slow now. Let me know if you don't like how it feels."

"What if I like it?" Eric looked over his shoulder with a devilish glint in his eyes.

"It would be good if you let me know that too," Daryl responded, smiling and nodding, used to Draven's humor now, and grateful for the way it made him feel at ease.

The progression of preparing his lover was a slow one, and began to test the limits of Albrecht's endurance, as his cock swelled jealously at the tight, moist heat clamped around his probing fingers. Draven had accepted each progressive stage of intrusion with discomfort first, finally giving way to acceptance, and eventually drawing pleasured little grunts in rhythm with the movements. The other man let out a wail of pleasure when Daryl found the hidden nob deep inside the tight passage where three fingers now moved and stretched.

"Do that again," Draven gasped, and when his lover obliged, he let out the same cry he had the first time. 

"You ready for me, babe? Gonna nail that little spot good," Daryl promised, hoping his technique would be refined enough to deliver on his promise.

"Just do it," Draven croaked, thrusting his ass back in the hopes of receiving another jolt of pleasure. Instead, Albrecht removed his fingers. "What...come on, man..."

"I can't get my fingers and my cock in there at the same time, Eric," Daryl said softly, kissing the other man's sweat-dampened shoulder. "Hang on. It's coming." After coating himself with the lotion, he positioned his cock at the other man's slick opening, and pushed. When he was inside, the cry that was dragged out of Draven was anything but pleasure. "You want me to pull out?" Albrecht asked, frozen in place by the outcry but fighting his body's drive to shove his way to completion. 

"No...just...wait a minute."

"Relax, Eric. I'm not moving until you give the word," Albrecht assured, reaching around to find the other man's waning erection, pumping it gently. Eventually, he could feel a loosening in the muscles clenched around him, but he still didn't move. It seemed to take Eric a moment to realize that he was waiting for permission.

"More," he breathed. Daryl obliged, pushing in a bit further, stopping when he felt tight resistance again.

"It's okay, babe. We're gettin' there."

"Okay...go ahead." Eric's tone was completely unconvinced, but the directive came at about the same interval of time as the last one.

"Not yet. You're not ready. Try to take a deep breath and relax." Within a few seconds, Daryl felt the telltale loosening of the passage's death grip on his cock, and he slid forward slightly. In a couple more careful increments, he found himself fully sheathed. "We did it," he said softly, smiling. 

"Man...I knew you were hung, but this is ridiculous," Eric responded, trying for levity as he fought to adjust to the bulk inside his body. 

"We're not moving until it feels right, babe. Just relax and get used to the feeling."

"You sound like you've done this before."

"Not really. But I've been with a virgin before."

"I haven't been that in a while," Eric responded, smiling a little.

"You are to this."

"Not anymore," Eric said, looking over his shoulder, still smiling. He tried moving back a little hesitantly, and Albrecht growled, leaning his forehead into Eric's hair, using every ounce of his restraint not to cut loose and take what he wanted. Then Eric did it again, more forcefully this time. "You gonna join me back there or not?" he challenged, that ever present spark of mischief in the eye Albrecht could see as Draven turned his head.

"Oh, man, am I ever," he gasped, and began moving, still tempering his strokes with some caution, letting Eric set the pace he could handle with his own backward thrusts. Soon, they had fallen into a give and take rhythm that carried them both to the edge, Albrecht's hand pumping the other man's straining erection in time with their sex.

With a hoarse cry, Eric's seed spilled over Daryl's milking hand as the spasmodic clenching of his muscles dragged a climax from his lover that was as intense as his own. 

A long silence followed, broken only by labored breathing. 

"Thank you," Daryl said softly, kissing Eric's shoulder and reaching up to pull a few strands of hair back to see as much as he could of his lover's face. "That was beautiful."

"You made it that way. I didn't think I could do it at first," Draven admitted, a bit hesitantly. "Thanks for going easy on me. I mean, you know if you did any damage, it would have healed, like, instantly."

"But it still would have caused you pain."

"Yeah, there's always that," Draven responded, smiling.

"I won't ever hurt you. I hope I didn't."

"Not anymore than you had to to get us together."

"I'm going to move now. I'll go slow."

"I know." Eric expelled a long breath and relaxed while Albrecht slipped free of the tight passage. Rolling over to face Daryl, he happily settled into the waiting embrace. After the two men shared lazy, prolonged kisses, Daryl pulled back long enough to ask another question.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's great. How're you doing?" There was that devilish grin again.

"Me? Oh, man, I'm great." Albrecht laughed softly, and drank in the site of a smile on Draven that was broad enough to show his teeth. "There's just one thing."

"What?"

"You need more blankets in here, man. Or at least some _heat_."

"I forgot about the window," Eric said, a bit apologetically.

"That was the idea," Daryl said in a voice little above a whisper, stroking Eric's cheek. 

"Next time, your place?"

"Oh, yeah. I'd love to get you in a real bed for a couple hours. Or a couple _days_."

"So when's your next vacation?"

"First chance I get, man," Albrecht responded, chuckling.

* * *

Blair was in his element, playing host to a room full of company. With most of the Major Crimes division and a good number of Rainier friends and colleagues milling around, Blair was happily mingling. Jim was satisfied to hover near the kitchen, playing bartender and keeping the food trays replenished. Blair was a born party host--he belonged in the center of the crowd, keeping the conversations lively.

The ringing of the doorbell drew Jim's attention away from the bowl of punch he was just starting to brew. He wiped off his hands and made his way to the door. Two people whom he considered the ultimate odd couple stood in the hall. Eric Draven, dressed in his trademark black garb, and Daryl Albrecht, a little less somber in dark green pants and a bright red shirt, his topcoat over his arm.

"Glad you could make it," Jim backed away from the door as the other men entered. After shaking hands with both of them, he took Albrecht's coat and tossed it with the others on Blair's old bed. "What are you guys drinking tonight?" Jim asked as he approached the "bar", which was really the kitchen counter.

"Beer is fine," Daryl responded, plucking a can from the bowl filled with ice that held the beer supply. 

"Pass, thanks," Draven replied, smiling. Then his interest appeared piqued by the punchbowl, and the contents, which were a work in progress. 

"I'm just getting started on a new batch," Jim responded to the visual inquiry. 

"They've already polished off the first bowl?" Draven asked, inclining his head toward the crowd behind them.

"Yeah, but Sandburg made it, and he doesn't spike it the way I do." Jim smiled a little evilly and flexed his eyebrows, setting a couple of liquor bottles up on the counter next to the punch bowl. "A friend of mine runs one of the local cab companies, so I can generally get everybody home without any DWI's."

"You made it!" Blair showed up behind Draven and Albrecht.

"I had to work later than I expected," Daryl explained, since they hadn't arrived until ten o'clock, and the party had started at eight.

"Eric, I didn't get a chance to say thanks...for the other night...I know things wouldn't have turned out as well as they did if you hadn't gotten involved." 

"No thanks necessary. I'm just glad we got there in time."

"That makes two of us," Jim spoke up from behind the cauldron of potentially deadly punch. "I still don't understand how you pulled it off, but at this point, I really don't care."

"You're looking good--less colorful," Eric said lightly to Blair, who laughed a little.

"Yeah, a couple of the guys at the precinct were teasing Jim about beating up on me for not typing his reports," Blair replied. "I'm gonna be real glad not to hear 'Hey Sandburg, what does the other guy look like?' for a good, long time."

"Hey, it's easy for them to laugh. It's not their face," Jim had a slight smile on his face, but his tone revealed his annoyance at his cohorts' humor at Blair's expense.

"Help yourselves to the food," Blair said, gesturing toward the kitchen table, which was laden with various cheese and cracker ensembles, hot snacks, chips, dip and various sweet confections. "Try the meatballs. They're incredible."

"Don't have to ask me twice," Daryl headed for the buffet, and soon was exchanging a few words with Simon, who had arrived at the meatball pot for thirds.

"So they're your specialty?" Eric asked.

"Jim's. He doesn't spread the word too much, but he's a _great_ cook." At Draven's surprised expression directed his way, Jim made a dismissive face and shook his head a little.

"I do a few Italian dishes...nothing major."

"He just doesn't like to do it," Blair opined, snagging a spicy chicken wing off a nearby plate. For some reason Draven was hard pressed to understand, Blair eating the chicken wing seemed to be an act that verged on erotic for Ellison, who cleared his throat and moved on to carry the punch bowl to the table with a pronounced clearing of his throat. While he moved a couple things out of the way and set the punch down, Blair made a point of catching his eye and sucking his forefinger into his mouth for a gesture much more exaggerated than necessary to clean the spot of sauce off the tip of it. Rattled, Jim barely got the punchbowl safely into place before moving on to mingle with his guests.

"If you put anything else in your mouth, I think you're gonna give the guy a fatal case of blue balls by the end of the party," Draven whispered to his friend, who burst out laughing with an inelegant snort.

The evening passed pleasantly with the guests munching on the goodies, a few dancing in the area of the living room near the tree that Jim and Blair had cleared for the purpose. The Christmas carol sing-a-long kept the crowd entertained for quite a while, as Blair hauled out his acoustic guitar and talked Eric into playing the Jimi Hendrix-signed electric. Megan was goaded into demonstrating her hidden singing talents on a couple of songs, and a pin could have been heard dropping when Eric played a soft, slow guitar solo of "What Child Is This?" 

When he'd finished, he caught Daryl's eyes, and the two men exchanged a soft smile. They were about to embark on those two days of vacation that Albrecht had wished after they'd made love, just a couple of nights earlier.

"Before we all hit the buffet table again," Jim began, "I need to have your attention for a few minutes." Jim turned in his seat on the couch next to Blair, who had set his guitar aside. "I have a present for you that I wanted our friends to be part of. I hope you like it." Jim produced a small box from his pocket, wrapped in gold foil and handed it to Blair.

"Jim?" Blair looked from the small box in the palm of his hand up to Jim. 

"Just open it, Chief." Jim smiled affectionately at his lover, who had very admirably restrained himself from touching Jim in any unseemly manner in front of their friends as they'd spent the last hour sitting close to each other on the couch.

Blair tore the paper away from the small, blue velvet-covered box.

"Jim--"

"Blair, open the box," Jim said softly, startling Blair by reaching up to caress his hair. Right there in front of their friends. His eyes snapped up and locked with Jim's. The larger man just gave him a reassuring smile. Blair opened the lid of the box with hands that shook slightly. Inside were two plain gold wedding bands. The room was so silent now that even Blair's indrawn breath was audible. "We've kept this to ourselves long enough. You know I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and I think it's about time the rest of the world knew it too. If you still want that too, I hope you'll wear my ring, and that I can wear yours." For a moment, Jim worried he had made the wrong move, that maybe Blair was just an uneasy about coming out as Jim was himself, and wasn't ready for the exposure. All he could read from Blair was a thundering heartbeat.

"Wh--" Blair cleared his throat. "Which one's mine?" he asked softly.

"This one." Both rings were identical except for the ring sizes, and Jim knew which one was in which position. He pulled the ring out and held it up. Blair held out his left hand, and the gold ring slid into place easily. "With this ring, I give you my forever," Jim said quietly, smiling into the wide, moist blue eyes that were watching him so intently. Blair seemed to jerk back to awareness then, and removed Jim's ring from the box. The other man held out his hand then, with a little smile. Blair slid the ring into place.

"With this ring, I give you all I am, forever," Blair said, smiling as one lone tear escaped. Not believing it would be possible for Jim to surprise him again that evening, Blair was stunned when Jim leaned in close and with a gentle hand on each side of Blair's face, pulled him in for an intense kiss, their tongues sliding together easily, like two halves of a whole. When Jim pulled back, he smiled widely and licked his lips.

"Mmmm. Chicken wings."

That comment was enough to break the tension in the room, and everyone, including Blair, burst out laughing. Blair moved forward and pulled Jim into a tight embrace, hanging on until he felt it returned with equal force. The sound of a plastic fork against a plastic punch cup drew the two men apart. Taggert was still tapping when they looked over at him.

"I think this calls for a toast. To Jim and Blair, for a long and happy life together--and for finally coming clean about what we all already knew anyway," he concluded, sharing the laugh with the party guests, who all raised their various beverages in salute.

The crowd dwindled drastically after Jim and Blair's exchange of rings. It was two a.m., and those who hoped to be conscious for Christmas Day made their way home. Albrecht sought Jim out, still sipping on some spiked egg nog. He had the advantage of Draven as his designated driver, so he'd enjoyed the rare chance to indulge in the pleasures of the party without counting his intake.

"Susan Perry was released from the hospital yesterday. She's still planning to testify."

"That's great news," Jim responded.

"When I told her that not only Morgan, but his old man, were behind bars, she was more than willing to help out."

"We were lucky our friend Hal sang like a canary. Still hard to believe one of our own guys could be paid to 'lose' that bloody rag out of evidence, but I guess everybody's got his price. We've got Mac's '83 white Caddy in the impound lot. No big surprise there." Jim paused, frowning a bit. "Found some sort of strange, carbonized substance on the front grille--you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Jim raised his eyebrows a little. Albrecht smiled at the reference to the substance Eric had sometimes left behind in place of normal, human blood.

"Not a thing," he replied, still exchanging a knowing look with Ellison.

"I'm not going to make any trouble for him," Jim said, inclining his head toward Draven, where he sat near the Christmas tree, deep in conversation with Blair.

"Because of Sandburg."

"Mostly, yeah. But also because I know Blair and I have an uphill battle to fight with announcing things this way. But even so, I don't think we'll face as many obstacles as you two will."

"We don't have any illusions about our relationship. It's going to have to be a 'take it as we can get it' situation. Draven's situation makes it pretty impossible, even if I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but frankly, I don't know if I'd have the nerve to do it. I don't envy what you're going to be facing down the road with a male lover. Most PD's don't adjust well to that."

"We've got some special friends. We'll have to rely on that to get us over the rough spots."

"Well, I better get going. He never sleeps, so if I wait for him to go home, we'll be here forever."

"That must be interesting," Jim commented, stifling a grin in his cup of punch. He was trying to picture a Sandburg who never slept, and figured he might live through a week or two of it. Albrecht cleared his throat.

"It's been different," he responded.

Blair could see the telltale signs of Jim and Daryl winding up their chat over the last of the punch and egg nog.

"You're going to keep in touch now, right?" Blair prodded Eric.

"Sure. And you know where to find me. I have a cell phone now."

"Great." Blair found a piece of shredded wrapping paper and hollered at Jim to toss him a pen. When he'd caught it, he wrote down the number Eric dictated to him. 

"I'm really happy for you about tonight, Blair. That's great."

"Yeah, when the shock wears off, I will be too," Blair responded, smiling. "I mean, we've tried to be so careful in front of Jim's friends and his co-workers. I don't know what stunned me more--Jim giving me a ring or Taggert's little speech and everybody's reactions."

"You were expecting to be stoned right there on the couch?"

"Well, I was expecting less rejoicing, anyway," Blair said, laughing. Then he became more serious. "I've gotten two really amazing gifts this year. This one from Jim," he said, looking down at his left hand that was resting on his lap at the moment, the gold ring shining brightly, "and you. That's such a miracle. I'm so glad you looked me up, man."

"So am I." Eric smiled widely. The two men stood as it became obvious that Daryl was about ready to go, following Jim back to get his coat.

"Take care of yourself." The two friends embraced briefly and then stepped back. "Good luck with...everything," Blair said, meaning the new relationship Draven had started with Albrecht that he had confided to Blair during their visit.

"Thanks. We'll probably need it." 

* * *

With the last guest out the door, Blair looked across the messy loft at his lover, who smiled knowingly from his spot behind the counter. He moved around it and met Blair halfway, pulling the smaller man into his arms.

"I can't believe you did that tonight," Blair murmured against Jim's shoulder.

"I hope you're not angry, sweetheart. I probably should have asked you--"

"Angry?!" Blair pulled back to look Jim in the eyes. "Jim, you just played out my favorite fantasy tonight. This big moment where you announce it to everybody we know and we don't have to hide it anymore."

"It won't be all fantasy. Some of it's going to be cold, ugly reality. I hope you know that."

"I do know that. I hope you don't regret coming out that way."

"Never." Jim smiled down at his lover. "I hope you don't mind something as old-fashioned and traditional as wearing wedding rings."

"I'm never taking this off. Not ever."

"Ditto, sweetheart."

"Jim, if we just got married tonight, that makes this our wedding night." Blair licked his lips. "You know what that means..."

"Oh yeah," Jim responded, chuckling low in his throat, then pouncing on Blair, claiming his mouth in a fiery kiss. He walked them back until Blair's butt ran into the back of the couch. "You want to hear one of my favorite fantasies?"

"Mmm?" Blair responded, tilting his head to the side for Jim to suck at the soft skin of his throat.

"You, naked, bending over the back of the couch for me."

"Oh God," Blair groaned, thrusting his growing hardness against Jim as the other man's hands wandered over his back and came to rest possessively on his ass, squeezing the denim-covered flesh. "What about the couch?"

"Hold that thought." Jim parted with a fast kiss, and returned with a bath towel. Watching him spread it on the back of the couch, Blair thought he'd come in his pants before they ever played out the fantasy. Jim moved back over to Blair and resumed his path of kisses down Blair's neck, pulling impatiently at the buttons of the younger man's shirt until it was finally open, shoving it excitedly off Blair's shoulders. 

Blair made short work of Jim's shirt as well, and soon they sacrificed their closeness for the efficient removal of shoes, socks, jeans and boxers. Jim embraced his lover, moving their naked arousals together. Then he whispered in Blair's ear.

"Bend over for me, baby." Blair moaned a little and Jim felt the already hard cock surge at the command. Blair obeyed eagerly, bending over the back of the couch, hands on the cushions, legs spread invitingly, the tips of his toes just barely brushing the floor. The view of that gorgeous ass, spread open for his pleasure, the little pucker visible with Blair's ass raised high. "Wait for me, sweetheart. Need to go get us something." Jim walked away.

"Jim?!" Blair called after his lover.

"Wait there for me, baby. Think about how good and long and hard you're gonna get it," Jim called back from the bathroom. 

Balling his hands into fists and fighting the urge to hump against the couch, Blair thought he would come right then. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Then, he made the mistake of raising his head and looking at the patio doors. He saw his own reflection head on, naked, with his ass raised high and presented to his lover, who was just moving out of the shadows behind him. Some little part of his mind scanned the scene to see that no windows were illuminated in the neighboring building.

"Nobody's watching us, baby. It's our show," Jim said, smiling as he coated his fingers with the lube and slowly worked one inside of Blair's body while his lover watched the whole process from head-on in the window. "Love you so much, baby. Gonna make you feel good." Jim added another finger, loving to watch Blair rotate his ass in time with the stretching fingers, looking over the back of the couch to see Blair's knuckles turn white as he made fists and worked at holding his climax for the main event. "Watch me love you, Blair," he panted. By the time a third finger was added, Jim was wondering if he'd hold out until the end, watching his fingers work in and out of Blair while the other man writhed in pleasure, moaning almost constantly now, rubbing off against the back of the couch

"Hold on, sweetheart. It's coming." Jim coated himself and then slid into Blair's body in one smooth thrust. Blair shouted out a little in surprise and pleasure, writhing backward to meet the invader. Jim didn't waste any time in starting his movements, and angled his penetration to hit Blair's prostate. 

"Ahhh!" Blair shouted, his hips wriggling shamelessly now in time with Jim's thrusts. "Oh yeah...Jim...hard...do it hard..."

"Yeah, you feel good, baby," Jim managed before giving up on talking, feeling the tide of his climax building as he pumped harder and faster into Blair, who continued to goad him to increase the intensity. He clung to the one shred of sanity he had left, tuning in to Blair's body and its signals, gauging the intensity of his strokes to give Blair the passionate workout he wanted without hurting him.

"Give me all you got, man," Blair gasped, spreading his thighs even further apart, trying to suck Jim in deeper. Jim took the invitation, and the loft was filled with cries of pleasure and the satisfying slap of flesh on flesh.

Blair found the strength to focus on the images in the glass, where he saw his own ass pumping wantonly from the force of Jim's strokes and the writhing of his own hips. He saw Jim's face, intense with pleasure and passion, powerful arms braced on the back of the couch, muscles rippling, all concentrated on the point where their bodies were joined in a frantic dance.

There was a primal, raw scream of completion as Blair shuddered through his orgasm, the spasms wracking his body as Jim moved faster, nearly driving Blair insane with the intensity of the stimulation.

Jim was close behind his lover, moaning, groaning, and finally shouting something incoherent as he filled Blair's body. Panting and spent, Jim barely supported himself on shaky arms, watching Blair's sweat-dampened back heaving with the effort of breathing. He eased out of Blair, catching the little groan that followed. He couldn't resist drinking in the sight of his lover one last time, ass still high in the air, his hot little hole still glistening from the workout it had just gotten, before he wound an arm around Blair's waist and pulled him up to his feet again.

"Oh, God, Jim..." Blair's head fell back against Jim's shoulder, and Jim lost no time in kissing the parted lips thoroughly.

"Everything okay, baby?"

"It's _so_ okay, man. I never...came that hard...in my life."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Now that the frantic heat of the moment had passed, Jim was solicitously holding his lover against him, brushing the dark curls back from the sweaty face. "I went a little nuts there, sweetheart."

"That was the plan. I asked for it, remember?" Blair smiled drowsily. "You didn't hurt me. You never do."

"I always try to stay tuned in to you, to make sure... I'd never forgive myself if I hurt you." Jim loosened his hold while Blair turned in his arms, wrapping his own strong arms around Jim's middle.

"You always take good care of me." Blair pulled back and looked Jim in the eyes. "I would _never_ trust anyone else to do what we just did. No one else in the world. I know it's safe for me to go crazy and ask for what I probably wouldn't want when I thought about it with a clear head--I know you wouldn't hurt me. Might make me think twice before sitting down for a while, but you never really _hurt_ me." Blair grinned devilishly, blushing a little.

"Let's take a bath and head up to bed, huh?"

"Sounds great." They headed toward the bathroom, arms still draped around each other. "Oh--I wanted to ask you--what's that stuff on the railing upstairs? I haven't been up there, and I just noticed it. Did you put more holly garland up there?"

"That's all the mistletoe they had left in the mall yesterday. It's gonna be a long night, sweetheart."

"Think we could leave it up there all year?" Blair asked.

"Yeah, like we need mistletoe." Jim chuckled, kissing Blair's hair as they entered the bathroom.

* * *

"Hey, it's snowing," Daryl observed, smiling up at the sky for finally showering them with something besides ice, power outages and cold air. Draven had parked the car in the driveway, and the two men headed for the door of Albrecht's house. Just as he inserted the key into the lock, he looked back at Draven. A nearby church bell was tolling. Albrecht looked around Eric at the other man's back. The inevitable legend quoted in "It's A Wonderful Life" sprang to Daryl's mind.

"I'm warning you, Albrecht, don't go there," Eric admonished, smiling a little wickedly. Albrecht pushed the door open.

"I was merely going to point out that old legend that every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings. I was just checking." Albrecht made a run for the stairs with Draven in hot pursuit.

"You're gonna pay for that one, man!"

"I'm counting on it!" Albrecht called back as he led the race upstairs to the bedroom.

* * *

I have searched a thousand lifetimes  
To find a soul like yours...  
A soul so brave, a soul so pure,  
An angel who takes my breath away,  
I want to lie with you forever,  
My passion knows no bounds...  
We are not the same as others  
We are forever lovers...

from "The Crow: Stairway to Heaven"

* * *

THE END


End file.
